I killed more than one bed of vegetable seedlings in my youth—and I was the one who’d planted the seeds. Since I have ADD, you might imagine the plants died from neglect. But, at least some of the time, it happened because I couldn’t bear to thin the plants. I ended up with overcrowded patches of radish, lettuce, and broccoli seedlings, all pale and spindly.
Gardening this last week, I noticed it’s still hard for me to thin. In the flowerbed out front, I hesitated to remove that second yellow columbine that had sprouted from a seed of the first. And I had trouble pulling out some of the tall, purple penstemons that keep spreading out into a larger and larger patch. I even contemplated leaving in a little of that white yarrow that I planted a few years back, even though it’s likely to take over the whole plot, like it did before, if I don’t keep pulling out those fragrant, feathery leaves.
It occurred to me that my garden beds are a metaphor for how I manage my time. It’s so hard for me to thin out the entries on my calendar, especially if they’re as appealing to me as the little rainbow-chard jewels I plucked out of the vegetable bed last week, or the sturdy cucumber and corn and bean seedlings whose young lives I cut short when I slipped them out of the soil.
I end up with too much crammed into the time I have—folk-dancing in the moonlight, copyediting a book on global warming, attending a support group for adults with ADD, wading with my daughter in the creek, checking out the used furniture store for a chair for the home office, writing a blog post about my garden, perusing a website on the Collaborative Problem Solving approach to parenting, printing out information for the landscape company at our complex about a training on organic methods, going out to hear a talk on osteoarthritis of the knee in active baby boomers.
When I did thin out the flower garden, you could see the miniature pink roses again, and those orange daisy-like flowers could spread out a little. There’s even room now around the front edge to put in a few annuals, maybe some miniature snapdragons. Each plant has plenty of space to thrive. The whole bed looks more healthy, more beautiful, more peaceful.
Maybe I can try that with my calendar.
I’d already started writing this post when the facilitator of my ADD support group showed up at our meeting with used copies of CrazyBusy for all of us. I’ve only perused the book so far, but it looks to be just what you’d expect from author Ned Hallowell: an out-of-the box and beautifully written synthesis of helpful (and timely, for me) ideas. I've put a link to the book on my list over to the right. And here's a link to Hallowell's CrazyBusyLife website: www.crazybusylife.com.
