While In Season
Recognize your own timing
My wife came out in sandals to stop me from spraying the weed killer. “Are you sure you’re supposed to do that in winter?” she said. “I don’t want you to waste time and resources.”
I take a lot of pride in my lawn care. As a new yard-owner, I like researching and buying my own tools. But like weeds, the number of tasks associated with lawn care seem to grow exponentially. There’s filling in the holes that form because our dog tears up turf while running. There’s trimming the bushes that, left unattended, sprout wacky, uneven branches. And there’s extinguishing the literal weeds that blossom all over the place.
When we first moved into our single-family home last September, there weren’t any weeds. Our lawn was tidy, the bushes trimmed, the pavement smoothly grey. Throughout the fall, I started to notice green tufts in the cracks between the pavement, or in the dirt patches that were previously devoid of green. I didn’t think much of it at first, trusting winter cold to kill them off.
Then I blinked, and there were weeds everywhere. One patch was so overgrown that you could barely see the gravel underneath.
So this past January, barely into the new year, I set aside time to kill the weeds.
I watched YouTube, read lawncare webpages, and went to Home Depot to pick out a herbicide in a tank that came with a spray nozzle. I read the instructions on the tank: for best results, pull out the weeds first, then spray. I pulled on my leather-padded canvas gloves and pulled indiscriminately, but eventually my back ached and my hands cramped (that’s how many weeds there were), so I decided to cut it short and start spraying.
The herbicide I bought had been recommended by many a YouTube and Reddit dad. The real deal, they said. It was supposed to clear out the weeds with one application. The version I bought had a foldable, detachable spray nozzle. With batteries, the nozzle would spray herbicide evenly with a click of a button, like a showerhead. Easy peasy.
My wife walked out onto the lawn in sandals. I felt a little thrill of pride. I thought she was checking me out, her yardwork wifey.
She said, “You know you’re not supposed to do that in winter, right?”
It was then that I noticed the quizzical look on her face. “I’m killing the weeds,” I explained.
“I know,” she said, “but you aren’t.”
My pride flared up in defensiveness, but I managed to stay polite as I asked, “How do you know that?” She generally knew what she was doing, as she had a green thumb for indoor plants.
She let out a little sigh of frustration, not at me but at searching for the right words to explain herself. “That’s just what plants do,” she said. “They don’t grow in winter.” She waited as I took time to process the information. It seemed to check out: most life, flora or fauna, hibernated in some way during the cold months. Herbicide probably needed to be absorbed through the roots in order to kill the weeds. Roots absorbed when they needed to grow. When the roots weren’t absorbing anything, spraying herbicide on dormant weeds would be like sprinkling salt on an egg with its shell still on.
“I don’t want you to waste time and resources,” she said sweetly.
I almost laughed. What a perfect metaphor for the beauty of seasons.
For the longest time, I wasn’t ready to work. Sure, I got myself out of bed and made it to my nine-to-five, Monday through Friday, but graduate school had left me burnt out and running on fumes. I managed to show up to my job, but even years after graduating, my productivity was leagues below what I was used to. Many days, it felt like I wasn’t productive at all.
Still, I tried to outperform, to do well at my first job and climb the ladder. I took on opportunities, only to feel like I wasn’t contributing much. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with my time. Where did it go? Why did it feel like I wasn’t finishing my projects on time, if at all?
With my judgment clouded by exhaustion, I took on more but less significant projects, hoping that knocking out smaller tasks would make up for my lack of productivity elsewhere, where it mattered. This was a mistake. The smaller tasks were not so small after all; they competed for my time and attention. My productivity continued to deteriorate, and so did my self-esteem.
I was trying to grow at a time I wasn’t ready to.
Last September as I moved into my new house, I made another big decision: to go part-time. My body and brain had long ago been begging me for time to hibernate. It was time to announce my winter was here and go into my cave.
Thankfully my job and boss were flexible. It was easy to scale down to take one day off a week and work half-days the rest. I found it easier to resist the temptation to stay on late to finish “this one last thing,” because I wasn’t being paid for it. I found it easier to say “no” to projects or tasks because I knew I literally didn’t have time in my compressed work week.
And, more than anything, I was ready to actually rest. When afternoon rolled around, I checked out on time and watched TV, or jogged, or wrote fiction in peace.
Standing in the yard with my wife, weedkiller in my hands, I understood what she was saying: I don’t want you to waste time and resources.
I folded up the spray nozzle, took out the batteries, placed the tank in the shed, and laid down on the couch.
It was winter. It was time to rest.
As we enter autumn in the physical world, I seem to be approaching spring in my work life. I recently increased my hours, though still part-time, and am beta-testing full eight-hour work days. I’m staying on a bit later to finish a task, saying “yes” to more opportunities.
But importantly, I’m not increasing my workload out of desperation. I’m following my curiosity.
I took all the lessons from my part-time experience— learning how to say “no,” learning how to focus on what’s actually important — and I scaled it up.
While in my figurative hibernation, I suppose I did ingest some kind of herbicide: a killer of unnecessary clutter. What was left afterwards was a clearer sense of my values and principles. I do enjoy my job, and I do find fulfillment in the labor. Instead of doing every little thing to impress somebody, I got better at focusing on what I found most important.
I took my time, and I grew.
