At one point in my life I spent a lot of time mowing the lawn. We had a decently-sized area with terrain ranging from wide, flat spaces to steep hills and washed-out depressions. The ride-on mower was the closest I got to having a four-wheeler, so the chore wasn’t all bad. Even so, during the height of the summer, the grass had to be cut weekly, essentially pre-booking my Sunday mornings.
One area of the yard was especially treacherous––water runoff had formed a rocky stream bed, sycamore trees hid branches beneath bark pieces and wide leaves, and there were two wells to be avoided. This Wild Zone wasn’t highly visible compared to the rest of the yard, making it possible to leave that area for the next week’s mowing.
Each time I shifted the task to the right on my calendar, it became easier to do it again the following week. Eventually it had been postponed so many times it became part of the landscape. Nature continued to reclaim the Wild Zone, increasing the difficulty of the task and the inertia associated with completing it. And so the grass grew tall and went to seed, rippling with the breeze even as it concealed all manner of organic debris.
Containing the most egregious parts of the Wild Zone was easy enough: I mowed close to the edge and tossed stray branches further inward. Nevertheless, ulterior consequences of such a region are much harder to manage, encroaching into other areas in sinister ways. My dog began returning to house with dozens of ticks, mosquitoes diminished the enjoyment of the rest of the yard, thorns and locust saplings obstructed the wells.
This simply could not continue. I pulled on thick jeans and a hoodie despite the summer heat. I added safety goggles and tucked my earmuffs awkwardly beneath my hood. Thus armored, I adjusted the mower and plowed into the miniature wilderness. Almost immediately, I heard the telltale grind-snapping of a branch being destroyed by the blades, followed closely by stray pieces of wood and chipped rocks smacking into my face. Thorns pulled at my sweatshirt and snared my ankles, digging into skin. Disturbed insects rose to mix with the vast quantities of dust and pollen already filling the air.
This is a rather roundabout way of describing my life of late. It’s easy to carry on with the imperative parts, doing what is absolutely necessary to keep things moving forward. Dealing with the rest of it, however, requires initiative; it doesn’t have to be finished immediately, even if it should. And so life moves onward, visibly well-maintained while the more hidden, personal areas grow wild and unkempt.
Mowing the Wild Zone was every bit as difficult as I had imagined, but it had to be done. Similarly, as exhausting as it may be to continue “hanging in there,” it’s not enough. It isn’t fulfilling to merely keep pace with existence. There is a limit to how much of oneself can be sacrificed before the tangled undergrowth begins to choke even the non-negotiable tasks.
Take the extra time to truly focus on a loved one, to do something creative, to enjoy the outdoors is vital. Not mowing edges or tossing the branches farther in, but applying the same professional focus to whatever represents “the rest of life.” We ignore these things at our peril. For sure, isn’t easy to set aside the urgent to take care of something important. It’s hard to overpower the inertia and plow through the stress in pursuit of fulfillment.
That’s what it takes.