My wife came out in sandals and stopped me from spraying the weed killer. "Are you sure you're supposed to be doing that in winter?" she said. "I don't want you to waste time and resources."
I take a lot of pride in caring for my lawn. As a new yard owner, I enjoy researching and purchasing my tools. However, like weeds, the number of tasks related to lawn care seems to grow exponentially. I’m filling in holes that are formed because our dog tears up the grass while running. The bushes are trimmed, but the unattended sprouts leave bizarre and uneven branches. And I’m literally eliminating weeds that are blooming everywhere.
When I first moved into a single-family home last September, there were no weeds. Our lawn was neat, the bushes were manicured, and the pavement was a smooth gray. Throughout the fall, I began to notice green clumps in the cracks of the pavement or patches of dirt that had previously been lacking in greenery. I didn’t think much of it at first.
Then I blinked, and there were weeds everywhere. One patch was so overgrown that the gravel underneath was barely visible.
So, in January of last year, barely into the new year, I made time to kill the weeds.
I watched YouTube videos, read Lawncare web pages, and went to Home Depot to choose a herbicide with a tank that came with a spray nozzle. I read the instructions on the tank. For best results, you should pull the weeds first and then spray. I pulled on my canvas gloves with leather pads and pulled indiscriminately, but eventually my back hurt and my hands cramped (there were so many weeds).
The herbicide I bought was recommended by many YouTube and Reddit dads. The real deal, they said. It was supposed to clean up the weeds after one application. The version I purchased had a foldable, removable spray nozzle. With batteries, the nozzle sprays the herbicide evenly with a button click like a showerhead. It was easy.
My wife was walking on the lawn in sandals. I felt a little thrill of pride. She thought she was checking me out, her garden work was my wife.
She said, "You know you shouldn't be doing that in winter, right?"
At that moment, I noticed a strange expression on her face. "I'm killing the weeds," I explained.
"I know," she said, "but you're not."
My pride flared defensively, "How do you know?" She generally had a green thumb for indoor plants, so she knew what she was talking about.
She sighed in frustration, searching for the right words to explain herself. "That's exactly what plants do," she said. "They don't grow in winter." I waited for the information to sink in. It felt like a checkout. Most life, flora, and fauna hibernate in some form during the cold season. The herbicide probably needed to be absorbed by the roots to kill the weeds. The roots needed to be growing to absorb. Spraying herbicide on dormant weeds when the roots weren't absorbing anything was like sprinkling salt on eggs.
"I don't want you to waste time and resources," she said sweetly.
I almost laughed. What a perfect metaphor for the beauty of the seasons.
For the longest time, I wasn't ready for work. Sure, I got out of bed and went from 9 to 5 Monday through Friday, but graduate school had burned me out and left me running on fumes. I managed to show up for my job, but even years after graduating, my productivity was leagues away from what I was used to. Many days, I felt like I was completely unproductive.
Still, I did well in my first job and tried to outperform to climb the ladder. I took on opportunities, but I felt like I wasn't contributing much. I couldn't understand what was happening with my time. Where did it go? Why did I feel like I wasn't finishing projects on time?
My judgment was clouded by fatigue, so I took on more low-importance projects. I hoped that knocking out small tasks would compensate for the lack of productivity in important areas. This was a mistake. After all, the small tasks weren't so small, and they competed for my time and attention. My productivity continued to decline, and so did my self-esteem.
I was trying to grow when I wasn't ready.
When I moved into a new house in September, I made another big decision. To go part-time. My body and brain had been pleading with me to hibernate long ago. My winter had come, and it was time to announce my entry into my cave.
Fortunately, my job and boss were flexible. It was easy to take a day off here and there and spend the rest of the half-day. Since I wasn't being paid for it, I felt it was easier to resist the temptation to stay late to "finish this last thing." I literally knew I had no time for a week of compressed work, so I felt it was easy to say "no" to projects and tasks.
And above all, I was actually ready to rest. When the afternoon rolled around, I checked out on time and watched TV, jogged, and wrote fiction peacefully.
Running in the garden with my wife, with a weed plant in my hand, I understood what she was saying: I don't want you to waste time and resources.
I folded the spray nozzle, took out the batteries, put the tank in the shed, and placed it on the sofa.
It was winter. It was time to rest.
As I entered autumn in the physical world, I seemed to be approaching spring in my work life. Recently, although part-time, I have been increasing my hours and beta testing eight-hour workdays. I stay a little later to finish tasks and say "yes" to more opportunities.
But the important thing is that I am not increasing my workload out of desperation. I am following my curiosity.
I took all the lessons from my part-time experience. I learned how to say "no" and how to focus on what really matters - and I expanded on that.
During my metaphorical hibernation, I think I ingested some herbicide: a killer of unnecessary clutter. What remained was a clearer sense of my values and principles. I enjoy my work and feel fulfilled in my labor. Instead of doing every little thing to impress someone, I have become better at focusing on what I think is most important.
I took my time to grow.