I spent last Sunday wandering around this derelict car park and the warren-like shopping centre that sits, squat and unused, underneath it. Later in the week, I spent a few minutes lovingly plucking brown, wizened leaves and stalks off a shop-bought basil plant that lives next to my kitchen sink.
Two unrelated, even mundane, events? One would think so, but together they formed the backbone of a train of thought that’s been running through my mind all week - the cutting away of dead wood in order to allow fresh new growth.
It seems such a simple concept, but so many of us continue to cling on to what no longer serves us. This “stuff” could be anything - relationships, possessions, ways of thinking, ways of living. Instinctively we know, while craving change in our lives, that if we do what we’ve always done, we’ll get what we’ve always got. So what is it about hanging on to the past that is so appealing to us? Quite often, we find reasons to justify our unwillingness to accept that we’re no longer best served by whatever it is we’re clinging on to, as well as reasons to avoid moving on.
We can attach meanings and values to our “stuff”, blowing their importance out of all proportion. In the case of the car park, for instance, one of the most widely used arguments in favour of keeping it was the fact that it featured, albeit briefly, in the film Get Carter. Equally, much was made of its architectural importance, as it’s one of the few remaining examples of the Brutalist style. But when its appearance and history are so well documented on film, do we really need to keep the physical body alive, despite its uselessness and degenerative effect on all that surrounds it? Think of the junk in your spare room, the drawer full of stuff that you never use, the friend you don’t really like any more, whom you never call, much less meet up with. If you have memories of the friend in happier times, or a photo of the junk you claim to love, what purpose does the substance itself hold?
Sometimes, we worry about what a change of heart says about us and the choices we made in the past. It’s an unpleasant thought, but the idea of publicly holding our hands up and saying, “I don’t want this any more” means that we’re effectively saying “I made a bad choice and I was wrong.” Gasp! What will people think of us?! What’s more, what will we think of ourselves? Well, the fact is that most choices are good choices at the time of making them. It’s only with time and changing circumstance - often circumstance that is in no way influenced by the original choice - that the results of those decisions become ineffective and unsuitable. In the 1960s, when the car park and shopping centre were built, they were the cutting edge of architecture and commerce, and the high street was bustling. But times change, and now it’s time for something new. To excise the dead flesh is a far braver and more productive move than proud inertia could ever be. Dead, infected flesh… spreads. Disgusting, I know, but it’s true. And bear with me, cos I’ll be sticking with the wound metaphors whether you like it or not.
When we create space in our lives by shedding old habits or possessions, we worry if we’ll manage without them, and what will take their place. Truly, we don’t know. But can it be worse than the current occupier? The chances are that it will be better. Maybe not a whole lot better, but even a baby-step improvement is an improvement nonetheless, and it’s nature’s way to build on success. In fact, it’s heartening to look to nature for inspiration. The dead leaves on my basil were sucking the life out of the rest of the plant as it devoted energy and nutrients to trying to prop them up, keeping them alive for just a while longer. Within days of the pruning, before the old leaves had decomposed in the compost box, the remaining plant is upright and lush, proudly bursting with buds and new life. When the car park is gone, in its place will be shops and restaurants, cinemas and bustling boulevards, a new heart for a once-great town. The plans are already in place. All we need is the space.
So where’s the dead wood in your life? Are there Brutalist car parks looming large over everything, or droopy, browning leaves dragging you down? What would it take for you to bring in the wrecking ball or the secateurs? What are you afraid of? What could you gain from breaking free? When it comes to your life, you are the only person you will ever have to answer to, so be brave, take a deep breath, and rip off the sticking plaster. Sure, the air on your wound might sting. You might even bleed a bit. But when you see that fresh new shiny pink skin, you’ll know it was worth it.