1 | Pruning dead wood
Last time I wrote about my lack of discipline. That’s a harsh characterization. I have plenty of discipline: I click the bedside lamp off by 9:30 p.m., finish reading books that I start, keep jobs, earn repeat business, maintain the supply of electricity to the house by paying bills on time. You get it. I’m surviving as an adult.
What I’m really referring to is the tendency to start things and then lose interest. To be wooed by the shiny object only to have it fizzle out before it dazzles. The problem is that I have such enthusiasm for new ideas. If idea generation were a competitive sport, I’d be frequenting the podium.
There is nothing better than brainstorming. Anyone who has worked with me knows how this lights me up. Seemingly random ideas pop out of my head with ease. The sheer quantity lending itself to at least one quality solution. It’s the execution that bores or frightens me. Do I have the capabilities? Do I want to complete this, even the drudgery that is always involved to some extent with making an idea come to life? Do I really feel this will make a difference or was it just fun to identify the creative solution?
100 days of paying attention
In April I started a new project. The concept started through The Isolation Journals and author Suleika Jaouad. She began the 100-day project to commit to creativity for a period of time, encouraging the habit, and connecting others in similar pursuits during the pandemic. Like Leo seeing a bird, I was rapt and decided to participate in a small way to get myself back into a creative headspace after establishing some normalcy with the dog schedule.
In atypical fashion, I did not jump at the first ideas that came to mind for my 100-day project. No painting every day (too material intensive), same for jewellery, knitting and many crafts, no writing every day. Spring was not far away and I was eagerly anticipating it, so I decided my project would be to document the arrival of Spring, the progress of nature, of time.
Every morning, just as I’m heading out on my walk with Leo, I take a picture of our backyard and the giant Norway maple. To stay accountable, I post it to Instagram. If inspiration strikes, I write a few words to accompany the photo. No pressure though.
I hoped that by paying attention in this way, with a daily pause to notice the landscape, I’d be reintroducing a form of meditation to my day. I would access my senses. Spark some gratitude, reflection, maybe even a writing idea. I wanted to demonstrate that I could do something for me; I hadn’t given my life over entirely to my responsibility as a dog owner. The creative, idea-generating part of my brain was still intact.
It’s Day 67 of 100. As you can imagine, the transformation has been quite beautiful. Slow, then suddenly momentous, like watching the wick burn towards a firecracker until it explodes in colour that’s over in a second. Though for all its visually rich display, nature bursts forth quietly.
If you look closely you might be able to see there are some very dead branches hanging limp, leafless on that tree. I’ve procrastinated getting it pruned—partly because I’m frugal and allow that to translate into the belief that the natural world needs the process of decay, to metamorphose the dead limb in its own way. Eventually it will fall and I’ll leave it as it lies, so it can feed the earth, returning to cycle through life-death-rebirth in some fashion.
Maybe that’s why I’m not a great gardener. I don’t dead-head. I weed only when the offending growth is at risk of taking over the place.
So it struck a chord, nagged at me, creeped into my being over and again when I read the line, “Pruning is an act of faith,” in a newsletter by astrologist Jennifer Racioppi.
The constant gardener
Of course. Pruning requires you to believe that something will grow to fill in the empty spaces. You’re staving off infection, rot, removing the fungus to spare the root. When we prune our lives, we must suspend expectation that a healthy twin will magically appear. For what grows in the absence may be an entirely new species. Perhaps where once stood X, now there is Y. I must withhold judgment and instead trust the process with curiosity and acceptance. Over time the new limb offers support and beauty of a different kind.
What I’ve pruned from my life—morning exercise, meditation, well, my routine as I knew it—has given way to another form. There’s a calm presence cultivated through my quiet morning walks with Leo. I’m outside in nature every day, usually for three walks. A new kind of meditation. A playfulness has grown alongside my tendency towards serious contemplation. I relish the approach of my dog with a toy in his mouth and a growl as he bows towards me to initiate a game of tug. I growl back. I get down on all fours sometimes. I play like no one is watching. Usually there isn’t anyone watching, thank goodness.
So, pruning has proven to be a rewarding act. And I’m seeing that in the slow accumulation of my 100 pictures. Maybe I’ll keep going.
I’m taking one final lesson from this. Do something with the story ideas cluttering my brain. I’ve been saving them up, waiting for the perfect time to develop them, but that may never come. I don’t want to be the gardener who leaves the roses on the bush, worried that it’s a waste, that it will make the plant less attractive, if the blooms are enjoyed briefly in a bouquet. There’s a faith needed here too. If I write a story, it doesn’t mark the end of the idea. There will be new experiences to draw upon as long as I’m paying attention. I need to trust that they’ll keep coming and that my muse will show up when needed.
Discipline is often talked of in terms of stopping ourselves from an action. Just one bite of cake. One glass of wine. Don’t stay up too late. Don’t spend beyond your means. Here’s to taking action, whether it starts as simply as a photo each day or small steps towards some dream. Start now.
xo
Lisa
Related resources
Really great writing prompts shared by The Isolation Journals.
A book on using your unique astrology to support your wellness. I’m a Gemini Venus, which explains the shiny object syndrome.
More backup for not saving your ideas for the perfect plan. Use them now!
A timeless TED talk about creativity and the importance of action.
If you’re interested in starting a writing practice, I took this course a few years ago and highly recommend it.