Pruning. The concept is easy to understand in nature. Dead leaves, dead branches, dead fruit must fall away—or be cut away—so new life can grow.
When you make it to the ripe age of fifty, you assume the pruning phase is over. You think that every dormant thing attached to you or surrounding you has already been resolved, and that what remains—visible and value-tested—will stick. After all, you are wiser now. You see more clearly. You’ve learned to discern between healthy and unhealthy situations, real and fake people, productive and unproductive habits. You’ve got this, right?
Then, a call to a friend goes unanswered. You pursue a goal that should come easily but doesn’t. You dive deep for someone else’s benefit, only to come up for air alone, worn, and wet.
I was talking to a friend about how this is happening to me right now. A strange shift that feels like being peeled, but gentler. She believes it’s protection. “When God is doing a new thing in you, things fall away,” she said. “Distractions are removed. Doors are closed. Windows, shut. Be thankful.”
It makes sense, and I’m working my way toward the gratitude part, but I’m not there yet. I think I’m still bargaining. The Virgo in me is curious about each unceremonious departure… every screaming void:
Is it something I said?
Is it something I did, or something someone thinks I did?
Have I underinvested somehow, and the deadness is a natural consequence of too little water or sunlight?
It’s disorienting—even for a woman who feels too grown to worry about such things. (Aren’t 50-year-olds supposed to be free of f#cks?) I began reflecting on a post I shared ten months ago in which I declared it was time to stop chasing people. In it, I listed the exact things I planned to stop chasing people for:
- Respect that I’ve already earned
- Partnership (and friendship) that may not be aligned
- Forgiveness when I’ve done nothing wrong (that I know about)
- Credit (and attention) that has no tangible impact on my life
- Entry to places I don’t even want to be
- Opportunity that isn’t difference-making
I saw a similar sentiment by Dr. Jessica Taylor making the rounds on Instagram yesterday, encouraging us to not “chase people who exclude or ignore us,” or “sell ourselves out to get into someone’s circle.” I reshared her post because it resonated with me, especially in this moment.
Today, it occurred to me that, ten months ago—when this thought rolled over me like a wave—I was being prepared to lose some things so I could take hold of others. Transition is uncomfortable, but I’ve been here before. I have enough life experience that I can look in the rearview mirror, remember the last pruning process I experienced, and trust that it is good. For now, I’ve done what I can and should do. I’ve opened my heart, stretched my arms, and opened my hands. I threw love and care into the air and gave it time and space to land. But I’ve not lurched forward. I’ve not ripped myself from the ground. I’ve not run after anything or anyone. And I won’t.
It’s not the zero f#cks I was promised, but it’s progress. I’ll take it.
Tara Jaye Frank