Faster than you'd think
I’ve been working in a garden recently. When I say working, it’s more like I’ve volunteered my meager labor skills to help out in a garden under the supervision of people who actually know what they’re doing.
It’s quite an embarrassing position to be in, really: A lapsed urbanite who has few practical skills to speak of, but yearns to work with the earth anyway. Nevertheless, every Friday, it feels damn good to squat atop some soil instead of sit before a screen. Working on the task of, say, pruning a fruit tree requires the use of both my body and brain in a way that makes editing a word document feel dull by comparison. As I duck and reach and move under and then over a branch, wielding a pair of loppers, covered in milky sap, I feel something I rarely feel when sitting at a right angle, merely using my brain: I feel like a human.
The main thing that strikes you in a garden, surrounded by life, is how much death there is. This will come as no surprise to anyone who spends their days in a natural system, but for many of us, it’s easy to forget this in our modern lives defined by the linear trajectory of capitalism. In our world, progress and growth are guaranteed! Just as long as you work and work and work and work and work at the expense of literally everything else — and only stop briefly before you die. But life, in its most elemental sense, just doesn’t work like that.
When I cross the threshold from the linear world into the garden, I swear my nervous system can sense the shift. Here, things make sense; a bell pepper or strawberry in December you will not find. Here, things are only available when the conditions of the system allow them to arise; if you want something you need system change, not money and same day shipping. Here, pause, rest, idleness, decay, death are not a threat to growth; they are the very thing that’s responsible for it.
It’s so contrary to what we expect in our careers, our lives, our economy. Imagine, for a moment, a CEO on an earnings call telling investors: “Well, in order to get the hockey stick growth you desire, we first have to plunge all our profits off a cliff. But wait until Q3 to see this approach really bear fruit.” (Sorry for all the tacky mixed metaphors in that sentence, but that’s literally how CEOs talk on earnings calls.)
When you consider the vast chasm between how natural systems — tides, gardens, menstrual cycles, seasons — work and how the conditions of our lives are structured, it’s pretty obvious why our world is in the state it’s in. Sometime in the next two decades, we’re going to decide one way or another if our species will still be thriving a century from now. It’s not looking great, but if we manage to pull it off, I think it will be because we let go of this linear mindset on both a personal and collective level.
This year has been a kind of preview of that. The virus has reminded us in a brutal way that despite our smartphones, airplanes, internet connections, and the hubris of the traumatized men who are in charge, we still live in a natural system. In fact, we are a natural system. Each of us, individually — the human body is made up of as many microbial cells and bacteria as human cells — as well as collectively, which is why we’re as susceptible to a virus pervading our system as a garden bed is.
It’s true that death has been a tragically defining feature of the modern human world in 2020, too. But even then it seems like we’re overlooking the role that should play in shaping our lives. Instead of using ritual and contemplation to honor our grief and lament the vast wisdom of elders lost, we’ve turned it into an economic calculation that deems certain units as dispensable. I’m as happy as anyone about the vaccine, but it doesn’t protect us from this way of thinking.
In the garden, there’s a three pile compost system. On the far left there’s the fully decomposed, rich soil currently being used up throughout the garden. In the middle is a pile of compost that’s essentially baking, and will soon be ready if left undisturbed. On the far right, there’s the pile that’s being added to every day with carbon and nitrogen in the form of garden waste. I consider the rightmost pile and wonder: Aren’t we going to run out of rotting real estate pretty soon? Given all the aforementioned death in the garden, the amount of that gets piled on to the third pile each week seems to far outstrip the space allotted.
“It breaks down faster than you’d think,” I’m told. Of course. Here I am trying to foresee and problem-solve using a mindset fixated on scarcity, when this system knows exactly what it’s doing.
Recently, when I wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life, I’ve taken to thinking of myself as those three piles. For about a decade, I was the left pile: in a constant state of output, never really worried about it running out even though I was subtracting far more than I added. Before this year, I had just started to see the value of the second pile, of just being still, of waiting to be used, of rest as something to practice. But since February, I’ve turned my attention to the pile on the right, finding new things to cut back, to weed, to break down, and get rid of every day — knowing I won’t have much to show for this work for a while, but sensing it’s necessary anyway.
It’s a new feeling for me to be unconcerned about what I’m putting out into the world. To be more interested in “learning and unlearning how to be part of a noble rot” than striving to arrive at some predetermined destination. I have no idea what will come of it, but I’m told it breaks down faster than you’d think.
A Note
If you are plugged into the world of online media (my sympathies if so) you might have noticed that everyone and their mother is now starting a paid personal newsletter on Substack, which is the platform I send this from. I’ve been writing this newsletter for about five or six years — two of those on Substack — and I have to admit, it’s amazing to watch so many people charge money for a newsletter they literally started last week. Nevertheless, I intend to keep this monthly newsletter free to all, for now. However, I am plotting some additions and changes — including some ways you can support my work, if you’re inclined — in the new year. So stay tuned on that.
Things I Enjoyed Reading
This piece on the socialist nature of forests is mesmerizing, and relevant to the sentiments expressed above. I also think it points to the fact that there are some things that science just can’t get to the bottom of. I find that oddly reassuring. [NYT Magazine]
On “leaving the land of romantic fantasy, where the soulmate and father of my unborn children lives, and embarking on a future that requires neither a man’s approval nor permission.” [Sydney Morning Herald]
On being absolutely fed up with cooking. Reading Helen Rosner’s writing is a delicate balance between my envy at how good she is and my delight over what she’s written. [New Yorker]
On the lessons to be learned from Japan’s shinise, or companies that have been running continuously for hundreds of years. [New York Times]
A joyous read on women who have given up on grooming. If women diverted the amount of time we spend on hair removal elsewhere we could probably solve the climate emergency. [The Guardian]
Love her or not, Lena Dunham is an immensely gifted writer. Im glad she's still willing to continue writing powerful pieces like this given how many people on the internet despise her. [Harpers]
On how this year and Covid have given us, in science fiction parlance, a new “structure of feeling.” This feels really true to me. [New Yorker]
Real intimacy is “not the person who calls to say, ‘I’m having an affair’; it’s the friend who calls to say, ‘Why do I have four jars of pickles in my refrigerator?’” [FT]
Some solid writing advice in ten tweets. [@SimoneStolzoff]
On the difference between self care and self compassion. The latter is harder to cultivate and far more life changing. [@Mindfulyogapsychologist]
Things I Enjoyed Listening To
The chef David Chang on depression, workaholism, and how success doesn’t feel like you think it will. [Fresh Air]
On “skin hunger,” or how people are surviving the pandemic without human touch. [Death, Sex, and Money]
“We’ve been modelling our life together on survival of the fittest long after science itself moved on from that.” A wide-ranging and edifying conversation on what’s to be learned from this “species moment.” [On Being]
There’s nothing better than discovering a great podcast with a long back catalog that you’ve been ignoring. This month, like many people, I listened to You’re Wrong About’s series on Princess Diana (which is much more informative than The Crown, tbh). But I also enjoyed so many other episodes including their series on Jessica Simpson’s memoir (come for the early aughts low-rise jeans nostalgia, stay for Dolly Parton and Willie Nelson imparting life advice) and their episode on how the world ate up Anna Nicole Smith.
A Recommendation and a Plug
May I suggest you just … don’t buy anyone presents this year? (Unless it’s books — books not bought from Amazon are fine.) Instead, I endorse this drinking snack recipe which is extremely delicious and easy and will give you a way to clear out all of the jars cluttering up your kitchen.
And, if you are in need of remembering or re-learning how to rest, I’m teaching a flow and restore yoga class for charity on Sunday December 20, 6:00 - 7:15 pm GMT on Zoom. Proceeds will benefit the Trussell Trust, which supports food banks across the UK and is working towards a hunger-free future. All abilities, bodies, and time zones welcome. Bring props (aka the pillows and blankets lying around your house) and we’ll stay close to the ground. You can book here.
Word Soup
“Each human being is both unique and universal. When the two things get integrated, it is that you call a fulfilled human being, one who has been able to realize the discords, overcome them, and make of him or herself as a single home.” —Dr. S. Radhakrishnan
“And if I speak of Paradise,
then I’m speaking of my grandmother
who told me to carry it always
on my person, concealed…” —Roger Robinson
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Rosie you are an artist like your mother. I love your articles. Thank you.
Absolutely loved this one. Thank you for writing so generously.