Cutting Back

I realize with dismay that my internal censor has become so severe I’m not even writing much in my journal anymore.  This must change.  I need to go back to Julia Cameron’s valuable concept of “morning pages” where I write three pages each morning and whatever I write is perfectly fine.  Was it the brief and unsuccessful attempt to publish my novel last fall that caused me to shrivel up like a toad caught too long in the summer sun?  Probably.

Onward.  

It’s so lovely out here this morning on my patio—a perfect 70 degrees, flowers blooming, birds squawking in the trees as my indoor cat lurks far below them for her short morning trot in the yard before I lock her up again.  I took a walk yesterday and gloried in the spectacular variety of summer flowers.  I even captured a picture of a black and orange Monarch I spotted resting on a purple butterfly bush bloom. 

Through the wonders of the Internet I finally figured out what the five-petaled pink beauties in the flower bed under the front picture window probably are:  Pink Musk Mallows.  The webpage advises that if we cut them back aggressively in August, they’ll return year after year; I think I must have done that inadvertently last summer.  I vaguely remember buying one small plant with a few pink blossoms from Giambrocco & Sons in the Table Mesa shopping center and planting it a year ago last spring.  Now the mallows are huge, taller than I am, with many pink flowers.  M takes great pleasure in the beauty of flowers, and I love that about him.  So I try to figure out how to nurture them even though I fear I didn’t inherit my father’s storied green thumb.

I’ll wait until the pink flowers are gone before aggressively cutting them back, a ruthless act that does seem to miraculously encourage plants to thrive.

Is the same true for humans?  If you ruthlessly cut back the complications and simplify a life is there a better chance for new growth, new sprouts, new interests?  Retirement is a simplification of sorts—after more than three years, have I cut back enough yet or do I need to further simplify for the growth I want to see?

On the other hand many retired people tend to withdraw more and more from others--and it seems that’s less likely to result in new growth.  So perhaps the analogy falls apart. On the other other hand, if you cut back on connections and focus only on a few interesting people—the quality of those interactions might be much better, and new growth more likely.

It’s okay to cut back, and only focus on what you really need and want.  Those needs and wants may end up being surprisingly few.  In fact, there’s a strong desire for scarcity itself—less noise, less clamor, less effluvia.  Perhaps what felt like atrophy is actually new sprouts, just below the surface, bright green and hopeful.

I wonder if this will get through the censor?