I started life in the bathroom sink of a very busy woman who didn't know I was there.

Honestly, that is where I first popped open my shell.

The constant drip of water from the leaky faucet kept me hydrated during germination. The steady temperature was perfect. No one washing their hands noticed me. No one in a hurry, brushing their teeth, saw me.

I was happily growing there, content to be left alone.

Then I was about an inch long, and someone noticed.

I thought I was happy there. Thin and pale and still alive, I had everything I needed. She scooped me up, not knowing what I would become. She dropped me into soil, placed a plastic bottle over me, and forgot me again.

Wow, did I discover how wrong I was to be happy in that sink.

The dirt, the sun, and the random waterings gave me an energy I never had in the sink. The plastic bottle protected me and kept me warm.

Now I have four leaves and I am four inches tall. My roots are tucking themselves into my planter.

I am still skinny.

That's okay.

I am still a baby tree. I should be skinny.

She doesn't know for sure what kind of tree I will be. She suspects an orange tree. Maybe a cherry. She really has no idea.

Somehow, she loves me anyway.

She forgets me for long periods of time, remembers me, and waters me just when I need it.

Here I sit, content in my recycled greenhouse in a sunny window.

Growing happily.

I suppose that is the funny thing about being alive.

Sometimes we mistake the place where we survived for the place where we were meant to grow.