Normally, I am quite good at reorganizing and getting rid of clutter. In fact, there's nothing I like better than reworking a closet or cabinet -- making a place for everything, and having everything in its place. Why then is there one big pile of stuff in my bedroom, that I just can't make any headway on? It has moved from one side of the room to the other, and back again, but it never seems to diminish in size.
What is in this pile, with its tentacles wrapped round my heart? Certainly not the sentimental things you would expect. There's an adjustable drawing table; all kinds of pencils, mechanical erasers, templates and scales; several pots of dried out markers and colored pencils; cardboard rolls wrapped with vellum drawings; notebooks filled with magazine pictures of plants, decks, patios and arbors; a file box of client data and bookkeeping records; albums of before and after photos...etcetera, etcetera.
Why am I having such a hard time disposing of this stuff? I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. It's not like any of those clients are likely to get back in touch with me after all this time. For starters, they wouldn't know where to find me! And it's not that garden design was the only job I ever loved. I was every bit as happy with visual merchandising after that, and now, with writing. Perhaps then, it is just that these supplies represent an important window of self-discovery for me. So many exciting firsts happening all at once! I guess it was when I finally came to believe -- really believe -- in my own creativity and talent.
I went back to school to study horticulture because I liked gardening. I'd had it with retail and service-related positions, and figured puttering around in a greenhouse all day would be a great job for a fairly anti-social person. When I was at UT studying Clothing & Textiles, the design classes were a struggle, and I was much more at home in the textile labs. So no one was more surprised than me to discover the tables had somehow turned. This time I found the lab work to be boring and repetitive, but the design classes were a lark!
Choosing just the right combo of plants for a particular spot was a lot like working one of my puzzles, I got to spend hours coloring, and I seemed to have a knack not only for making the clients see what was in my head, but also for turning people who claimed to have "brown thumbs" into enthusiastic gardeners! It was my first time to have a mentor who took me under her wings and taught me trade secrets, my first time as a business owner, and the first time my older siblings started coming to me for advice. Best of all? It was the first time John was so proud of the work I was doing, that he bragged about it to others, instead of referring to it as "my little job."
Yeah, I guess that could explain my attachment. Still...what do I do about all this crap?
A STUMBLING BLOCK
Reviewed by juragan asem
Published :
Rating : 4.5
Published :
Rating : 4.5
