You couldn’t miss it.

A ”Look At Me” shade of red seemed to be calling out from the brownish, trampled grass at the bottom of my building’s back stairs.

A few years ago, on December first,  I saw a single red rose clinging to a black wrought iron fence around the parking lot of the kabob house down the street. The petals held on, as if by strength of will, vibrant in color, alone where cars made short appearances for quick dinner pick-ups; easy to overlook.

I wondered: How could it survive in such an unkind environment? Didn’t it know the season for blooming was over?

I noticed this flower on the small patch of grass where my old Toyota slept like I noticed the rose at Noon-O-Kabob a few years ago, but something was different.

I marveled at the single red bloom here like I did years earlier. Was I entranced by the color? The audacity of calling attention to itself in such a way?  Its will to hold on to its petals into December? Its readiness or acceptance of living alone for this chapter in its life’s journey; without a garden or other flowers or even tended ground cover nearby?

The bloom at the base of my building’s back stairs was a different type of flower than the one I saw in the restaurant parking lot, but I am different too.

In many ways, I saw myself in both single late blooms.

It’s not hard to take a second look at red carpet snapshots of Meryl Streep or Jane Fonda. Fonda is well into her eighties. Throughout their lives, they’ve been very engaged in all sorts of projects, in personal explorations and growth. They were always considered beautiful.

When I saw the rose, I liked the thought of peaking late in life, of coming into my own individual brand of beauty. There was nothing to compare myself to. No other flowers shared a mound of dirt with me. There was no one else like me, right?  I just had to learn how to take things in their own time.

But I wanted conventional things. Some sort of audience for the words or thoughts I’d fling out into the universe. I wanted to have good credit and better health. Maybe a small circle of people who’d encourage my adventurous side. New cashmere sweaters from time to time.

But I feel differently now. I don’t seem to be as concerned with being “noticed.”

I suppose part of me still wants an audience, But I know I do what I do because I need to. It’s natural to me. I have been growing less concerned with being noticed.

I know this quote by author and educator William Watson Purkey has been posterized more often than pop-up deals for vacation travel appear on the NYT – Online. “You’ve  gotta dance like there’s nobody watching.”

The red flower I saw at the bottom of my back stairs this week doesn’t care if it’s noticed or not. It’s beautiful anyway.

Knowing that you are beautiful, regardless of worldly successes and failures, regardless of being NOTICED, is no small thing.