"Cut off the dead leaves so new growth can flourish come springtime."I was raised by gardeners; sayings like these are mantras that nestle deep into the subconscious realms of my memory, safe and familiar, always there when I need them. I know them well. There's nothing that bogs down a tree or a rosebush or a vegetable patch more than carrying dead weight, dragging themselves as if through sludge with a corpse still attached. It drains the new growth, having to support all that decomposing matter. It's still part of the plant, after all. It still diverts energies that should be nurtured elsewhere. There's nothing beautiful about dead weight.
There's been a lot of dead weight in my life lately. Many aspects of my life needs pruning, removing the old to make room for the new. I'm at a perfect stage in my life for it, too. Soon things will be changing, gloriously changing, and everything will be new and strange and different - but not yet, and I've never been good with suspense. Something's gotta give, something's gotta change, and something's gotta replace all the old, bedraggled nastiness I've been carrying around with me for so long. If those changes aren't going to be major, they need, need, need to be minor. They need to be something. Otherwise, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.
So I suppose that's what this is: an attempt at pruning. A taking up of shears and a donning of gloves, in the hopes of removing all that anger, frustration, and sadness I've had weighing me down for so many years. Maybe this is what I need; or maybe this is where it'll stay. Maybe I'll give up. Maybe it won't work out - ah, but what if it does? A new life, a new release, a new me to present to the world - maybe that's all I needed all along.