And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more

Hear the stirring words of Elizabeth Appell, who wrote with the fire of transformation: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” In this saying, she lays bare the secret of growth, the moment when fear of change yields to the greater agony of stagnation. The image is tender yet fierce: the bud, small and closed, trembling with potential, must one day face the peril of unfolding. For to remain shut forever is to suffocate; to open is to live.

The meaning is clear: all growth carries risk. To love, to create, to pursue a dream, to speak one’s truth—each demands the courage to open, to expose the inner self to the winds of uncertainty. Yet there comes a time when the cage of safety becomes more suffocating than the dangers of freedom. The pain of remaining unfulfilled outweighs the fear of failure, and in that sacred instant, the soul chooses to blossom.

History gives us countless witnesses to this truth. Consider Rosa Parks, who for years endured the humiliation of segregation in silence. But one day, the pain of remaining bowed was heavier than the risk of standing tall. By refusing to give up her seat, she blossomed into a symbol of courage, sparking a movement that changed a nation. Her act reveals the essence of Appell’s words: that transformation begins when the agony of staying silent exceeds the fear of speaking out.

Another example is found in the life of Vincent van Gogh. For much of his life, he remained a closed bud, tormented by doubt, unrecognized, misunderstood. Yet in his last years, he poured forth his colors with reckless passion, choosing the risk of self-expression over the safety of restraint. Though the world mocked him, he blossomed into one of history’s greatest painters, leaving a legacy that continues to burn with beauty and power. His life shows that even in suffering, to blossom is nobler than to wither unopened.

Appell’s words speak not only to individuals, but to the whole of humanity. Civilizations, too, face the moment when they must abandon the comfort of the familiar and embrace the risk of change. When the pain of injustice, of oppression, of decay grows too heavy, societies must blossom into new forms, no matter the cost. The great revolutions, the awakenings of nations, all bear this pattern: the refusal to remain in the closed bud of the past.

O children of tomorrow, take this lesson into your hearts: do not fear the risk of growth. Fear instead the prison of remaining unfulfilled. The bud is safe, but it was never meant to remain closed. You were made to open, to expand, to give fragrance and beauty to the world. There will be winds, storms, and dangers, but greater than these is the sorrow of never having lived fully.

Therefore, let your practice be this: when you feel the stirrings of your soul pressing against the walls of fear, listen. Do not smother that fire. Step forward, even trembling, into the unknown. Write the book, speak the truth, take the chance, love with abandon. The risk is real, but the greater tragedy is to remain forever in the bud, never tasting the glory of the blossom.

Thus Elizabeth Appell’s words endure as a hymn of transformation: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Let them remind you that life is not given for safety alone, but for courage, for unfolding, for flowering into the fullness of your being. And when that day comes, may you have the strength to blossom, reckless and radiant, into the light.