That damn fig tree

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.

…

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” Sylvia Plath - The Bell Jar

Time. The powerful unseen force that dictates life. Society speaking the rules that revolve around this dictator: don’t wait too long to get married and have children or it will be too late, don’t put off your career for later on in life because the youth are the future, don’t waste your time on things that won’t help you advance. Don’t waste your time. Don’t waste your time. Don’t waste your time.

The first time I read the Bell Jar and came across the fig tree metaphor I shut the book and gaped. Never had a metaphor summed up my paralysis at making a decision so well. Women are taught from a young age we are racing the clock. Your beauty will fade. Your biological clock will run out. Your chances at love will slim. A brief glimmering window of opportunity that fades as fast as it comes.

Paralysis in the face of this overwhelming expectation. Starving. Staring at every possibility knowing you can’t have it all.

So here I am not knowing what I want to do with my life not because I have few passions but because I have so many. Each is an overflowing fountain I’ve only dipped my toes into. The idea of time consumes me because what if I never have the chance to bathe in each pool. When asked what I want to be, what I want to do, how I want to spend my time I say ‘I don’t know’. Not because I have no aspirations but because I have so many. I’ve only scratched the surface of so many things. I want to be great but I can’t devote my time to everything.

In the words of Amy March “I want to be great or nothing”.

So here I sit, under the fig tree, choosing nothing until I can defeat my indecision and choose which path of greatness I want to pursue. Time ticks on mocking my fixedness.

What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?

The truth is I’m not sure. But I’m not going to let myself starve. Whilst I believe the window of opportunity is much wider than society has forced us to believe, the truth remains that life is short and fleeting. So, I’ll pick figs and choose the ripest ones and know that I don’t have to be put in a box. I don’t have to be stuck under that damn fig tree forever.