On the value of taking care of the roses (series: notes to myself)

They say that what matters sometimes is not the outcome but the process: not the success or failure of an action, but just the action itself. 

Maybe. But I always thought it was a bit of sour grapes. Didn’t really want beautiful roses in my garden, kind of line of thinking. The important thing was gardening. Or so you tell yourself, trying to be convincing. 

But I recite this loudly a few times and it still sounds quite lame. It's the philosopher's fault, because he asks the unpleasant questions. Would you have done it anyway, even if the roses had no chance? But above all, what if the process itself is also pointless? Perhaps the gardening is a failure too, like the dead roses. 

So you pause, on your way to the roses, and think: if the outcome is not what matters, and the process is not what matters, why caring for the roses? Better stop, or kill the realist awareness that shows the worthless nature of the whole enterprise. 

Is there anything left, if all is a failure? 

In the thick emptiness of this question, I have the impression that a quiet voice, half a whisper really, easily missed, tells another story. 

Not winning. Not participating. Not the beautiful roses. Not the successful gardening. But being one who is determined to participate, and win if he can, the will to care, that is left as a value. 

Despite so many criticisms, that Cartesian whisper sounds reassuring. Or is it Stoic?

The cared is crucial. The caring is also important. But even if both are gone, to be one who wants to care remains as a value that is unscratched by any failure. Failing is more than just proof of having tried. It is proof that one is a trier. It is like the doubt that reinforces certainty. 

Better go and water the roses. They do not need me, I need them to be a better person, one who will not give up trying.