On Change, Baby Groot and Running Up That Hill

16 Mar

KATIE BROWN - 16 MAR 2022

About four years ago I bought a weeping fig - a ficus benjamina, to be precise (fY-cus benja-MEEna, as enunciated with relish by the most excellent salesman at my favourite plant store), and it was positively lush with a glorious profusion of glossy leaves. It won my heart when, after some of its leaves began yellowing and falling off (quelle horreur), a little Google research told me not to worry - it was just going through the process of adapting to its new environment. I mean, come on. The little guy - such tenacity in his vulnerability. I dubbed him Baby Groot, and Baby Groot he has been ever since, for better or for worse - arguably for the worse (sorry, pal).

Baby Groot has shown much fortitude in his life chez moi. He’s been upstairs, downstairs, in low light, in bright light - and he’s always just kept on keeping on. But over time, his leaves began to thin. I’d find them stowed away under my dresser or behind the kitchen cabinet, drifting down if I happened to brush past too close, like little secrets he was trying to hide from me so I wouldn’t worry. And then he really didn’t have many leaves at all. Not a healthy ficus. And what’s more, he’d severely outgrown his pretty small pot - the root to soil ratio was particularly worrisome. Did I rush out and buy him a new pot, like the conscientious plant mama I dreamed of being? I did not. And every time I looked at him it gave me a pang.

Pangs - such funny things. Especially when you don’t act on the little prompt they’re trying to give you. You see, one of the reasons I couldn’t change his pot was because I knew that my own metaphorical ‘pot of life’ needed a little TLC. I’d been stuck for quite some time in the same rhythms, cycles, routines, habits and ways that I couldn’t see how things could ever change, and moving to a bigger pot seemed as impossible as it did terrifying. Life was feeling rather dried up - not much to get excited about or look forward to, or to be hopeful about. You know that state? Yeah, you do - hey there, Covid (such FUN WE’VE BEEN HAVING). It’s a weird one isn’t it. But it’s a state that is so rarely reflective of the truth.

Anyway, after awhile the pang resulted in another impromptu trip to good ol’ Kings Plant Barn (can I have an amen!), and out I walked with not only a new pot and soil for my beloved Baby Groot, but a plethora of other plants and pots too (you know how it is). I told myself that repotting him into a bigger container was a metaphor for change: a challenge, of sorts. If he thrived, then yay - change is good! If he died - then what’s the use in anything anyway!

So I dug him out, gently untangled his roots as best I could, and planted him into his new home, surrounded by rich new soil.

Bigger pot. Leafless Groot. Soil to root ratio now perhaps too far in the opposite direction. Anxiety. What would I know about plants, anyway? Two months went by. He didn’t die (hurrah), but no change (le sigh).

Another two months - and first a few little leafy buds, then more, and then more again (and he’s STILL leafing, the clever little chap). I smiled. My metaphor worked.

Change is a little bit like that isn’t it, especially when the change is a big one - when you have to uproot yourself from something that is known and comfortable, and ‘repot’ yourself into something that’s very unknown but very much needed as much as it is potentially risky. There’s a flurry of activity as you leave your little pot, and then you climb into your new one, but it doesn’t immediately feel good - right, even. It feels different, unknown, strange. Too big. You look back, you doubt, you question.

But you realise you’re not losing any more leaves.

You just have to sit awhile.

There is a very lovely TED talk by the Irish actor Dónall Ó Héalaí (give it a watch below: it’s very special), in which he talks about a Celtic folk tale where a group of people uprooting themselves from one land to move to another suddenly come to a complete halt on the journey in the middle of nowhere. They sit, and they enter an almost catatonic state, and their leader is perplexed: what is going on? Why can’t they be roused? And he’s quietly informed that because they’ve moved so quickly they need time for their souls to catch up, and there is no point in trying to hurry the process. They’ll move again when they’re ready.

Beautiful, isn’t it?

It’s about trusting the process, embracing the discomfort and being okay with transitions taking time. The new leaves come when they’re ready. And while you’re in that in-between space, waiting for your ‘soul to catch up’, you have to take it easy too while everything within you recalibrates.

This is something I recently realised while running around the local cemetery (so Fleabag, I know, but it really is a beautiful space! So many grand old trees, thick bush, and 19th century gravestones tucked amongst wildflowers: it’s peaceful, it’s sacred. It’s an ode to what’s passed and what’s to come, and it’s housed many a new idea as I’ve made my way through it).

The thing about this particular cemetery is that its narrow roads are very rarely flat. They twist uphill and then downhill, and if you plan your route right you’ll have more down than up - but usually it’s more up than down. Good if that’s your thing, but that’s really only my thing… well, never. And you know how sometimes your mind wants to run, but your body just doesn’t want to tow the line? I was virtuously attempting to run up one of these hills, dragging my fatigued and reluctant self with me, when it occurred to me that really I would be accomplishing a perfectly valid amount of exertion just by walking up it. So I stopped my laborious jogging, and walked instead. And it was just right: when I reached the top, I was out of breath, but I wasn’t too out of breath. Balance.

Let’s get scientific on it, shall we? When you’ve gone through a big change or an extended period of stress your sympathetic nervous system (responsible for your body’s fight-or-flight response) is likely to be thrown off balance and operating in an overstimulated state: this can play out in symptoms like anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, headaches, poor digestion and high blood pressure. If this remains overactive for longer periods of time, it can be very detrimental to your health. Those jets need to cool.

By contrast, the parasympathetic nervous system is responsible for calming us down, reducing our blood pressure and heart rate, stimulating digestion and increasing our wellbeing - and that’s what needs to be activated in such situations. Things like meditation, deep breathing, spending time in nature (hello, cemetery!), yoga and gentle exercise (overexertion can serve to only further charge up the sympathetic nervous system) can help with this.

For me, I was waking up with my heart racing, nausea, and anxiety spiralling out of control. But I had been through a similar experience before when slowing down after chronic stress, and after significant changes (moving house, even getting a cat - because, kittens: cute, but really, really supercharged), so I recognised what was going on - that those sensations didn’t mean that my ‘repotting’ was wrong, just that it had happened. And this time around, kicking the ol’ parasympathetic nervous system into gear has really just been playing out in being extra kind to myself. Taking time out to breathe deeply, listening to soothing music, being careful with exertion, doing non-stressful activities that bring me joy (I’m currently buried in a good ten metres of ivory tulle and lace as I sew up a little Simone Rocha-esque concotion), and resting when needed. Who doesn’t love a good afternoon nap!

It takes time to decompress, and it takes time for your roots to establish themselves in new soil. But they get there eventually. So for now, we’ll just be walking up that hill, thank-you-very-much Kate Bush. Save the running for another day when those leaves are fully flourishing as they were once before. For me, at this point I’m very content to put my energy into just letting them grow again while I catch my breath, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what a whole lot more of us are needing too. These last few years have forced change on us all in so many ways, and I think many of us are still reeling below the surface, despite having ‘soldiered on’ to a strange and new sort of normal superficially.

Time to just walk for a spell, I say. In the midst of all that’s going on at the moment, seek out things that are beautiful and peaceful. Let those leaves come again when they’re good and ready, and soon your soul will catch up too.

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