I do wonder if it isn’t significant that our experience of flowers is so deeply drenched in our sense of time. Maybe there’s a good reason we find their fleetingness so piercing, can scarcely look at a flower in bloom without thinking ahead, whether in hope or regret. We might share with certain insects a tropism inclining us toward flowers, but presumably insects can look at a blossom without entertaining thoughts of the past and future — complicated human thoughts that may once have been anything but idle. Flowers have always had important things to teach us about time. MICHAEL POLLAN
My friend Susan recently popped over with good cheer and several jars of the most amazing homemade “Jewish penicillin” chicken soup I’ve ever tasted. She just finished an onerous cancer journey and shared the good news of a clean scan and restored energy. She has returned to her previous life but is doing so on her terms. During her treatment, she parsed out what brought her joy and what leached her spirit, then committed to a new life going forward. “Editing,” Susan said, “is about reading the room and being mindful of what is essential and what is clutter.”
She called her renaissance The Big Edit.
I am only four months into my cancer treatment, but I share this impulse to edit. When you are initially diagnosed with cancer, adrenaline and anxiety temporarily paralyze you. But then you realize that inertia is deadly and time-wasting. It’s like feeling a creature bump into you in the ocean. After the initial freakout, you hustle in case that tap is a shark or some other predator with a sinister agenda. Navigating your way to shore, or into remission, takes all your strength, but you’ve got to do it. Or else…
During my medical leave, I am taking time to take inventory and to sit with how I approach my days. My life has been interesting and dynamic, but often much too complicated. As I added more and more to my agenda over the years, I felt overwhelmed and exhausted. And unhappy. Some of this chaos is circumstantial but much was my own manufacture or pre-programmed into my DNA by a once high-profile family. I conflated a fulfilled life with always saying yes and proving my worth (and exactly to whom I might add?), by doing, doing, doing.
Overnight many of my previous ambitions have lost their allure. I am saying no to my ego and resisting the temptation to “fix” others’ problems or give counsel. I’ve canceled a good many commitments, swatted aside any lingering FOMO and, like a preschooler, have given in to my need for quiet time every afternoon. I don’t like fighting for my life, but I do like this new pace.
“I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes--everywhere. Until it's every breath I breathe. I'm going to go out like a fucking meteor!”AUDRE LORDE
I made two rolling lists: Sow and Prune. They get longer by the day so here are the edited versions.
SOW
Spend more time with my children — wherever they may be— and with my husband.
Write. Journal. Read.
See friends.
Create more play and laughter. Lots of it.
Become more of a novice.
Grow more flowers.
Travel to explore.
Walk my dog without multitasking.
Embrace spontaneity,
Watch the light.
PRUNE
Automatically saying yes.
Meetings wherever and whenever possible.
Exposure to those who are strictly agenda-driven, vain, competitive, incurious, petty, or angry.
Mindlessly keeping up with emails and texts.
Large gatherings except for weddings. I love weddings.
Obsessive news inhalation and looking at social media.
Guilt.
Overscheduling and rushing.
Shame.
Need for external validation.
A cancer diagnosis invites a reckoning. And in my case, a long overdue one. Every gardener knows about the Chelsea crop —a standard practice to reset plants and restore their vigor. The method is brutish — you radically, but strategically, cut back a plant to restore its vibrancy and extend bloom time. My methods are similar —cutting back to grow—and I look forward to the results.
Smell the roses too, while you're at it -- festina lente as that delightful latin phrase reminds us.
❤️❤️❤️