Employees at the work place. I watched forlornly as it was carted away,
leaving behind the empty pot. Strangely though, the next day when I
walked into the office, I sensed a brightness in the room. PHOTO| FILE
The potted indoor palm had once flourished, first in the home of
a colleague where it “greeted” guests in the foyer, and after he left
the country, in my office after I bought it from of him.
Then
the splaying leaves were a bright green and the stem sturdy. It always
sat in the corner of my office, another living thing sharing my space.
However, I left its care to someone else who always watered it and ensured it got the sufficient nutrients.
Sometimes,
I would come into the office and barely give it a glance, after all, it
was always there. Then the person who cared for it left, and while
someone else replaced him, in the job brief, I forgot to tell him about
the plant. After weeks of neglect, I walked into the office one morning
and noticed that the leaves were a dry drooping brown.
The
plant was dying. We tried to resuscitate it by watering profusely,
adding fertiliser and taking it out into the sun. Even though I had not
paid it much attention in months, I was not willing to let it go.
Sadly,
I was too late. Our daily ministrations did not pay off and the leaves
of the palm got more brittle over the new days. Unwilling to let go, and
unsure of what to do with a plant that had been a silent companion for
over six years, I still kept it in the corner. “Live!” I pleaded every
time I took a break from the computer screen and glanced its way. But
time was up.
After about two weeks, I
came into the office one morning, looked at the unhappy plant, and knew
it was time to put both of us out of our misery.
I
watched forlornly as it was carted away, leaving behind the empty pot.
Strangely though, the next day when I walked into the office, I sensed a
brightness in the room.
There was
nothing but office furniture and an empty pot but something was going
on. I sat in my chair and tried to make sense of it. Then realisation
came: “We need to let go of the dead thing in our life.”
TAKING CUES
Dead
can define so many things. A life outlook that no longer serves the
person we are. A relationship that destroys. A dress that no longer
fits.
A plant that is long gone.
Nature gives us plenty of cues. We know it is time to prune when trees
or plants grow bushy, we know to rake the lawn when it is filled with
wilted, yellowing grass, we know to remove the dead flowers off a plant,
we know to practice plant rotation. Why? To give the garden a new lease
of life.
It’s harder to see in our
personal life though. Mainly because we have a problem letting go. Also
because we think we can resurrect what once was.
If
I fit into that dress once, I’m sure I can do it again. What we fail to
see is that dress might represent a youth I don’t want to leave behind.
Yet
if I’m to fully engage in my life as it is right now, if I am to
create a compelling new future, I need to leave that dress in the past.
I
could donate it to someone who needs it for their right-now reality,
and in so doing, also give this treasured dress a new lease of life. For
men, it might be their first television set or car. Rather than let it
go to bless someone else, it sits on stones in the driveway or on a
shelf in the store.
These items might
not be dead, but to you they basically are of no further use. And like
my beloved plant, they are taking away valuable positive energy and
clogging up your space.
So what is
the dead thing in your life? Is it really dead or can it be
resuscitated? If it is beyond resuscitation, can it find a second chance
of life elsewhere?
Removing the dead
palm tree from my office, did something else for me. I felt as if a
weight had been lifted off my shoulder once the exercise was done. And
that’s when I understood why such things are called a dead weight.
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