Minor Epiphanies 1.6

On sitting in the crotch of a fig tree

Quotations have the power to anchor and validate, and there are certain ones I regularly reach for. One I find myself returning to lately is the “fig tree” quotation by Sylvia Plath:

“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. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. 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.”

As my husband and I figure out our next steps with where we’ll live, what we’ll each work on, and when to grow our family, we’ve found ourselves — once again —nestled in the uncomfortable but familiar crotch of the fig tree. One fig is our lovely life we’ve built in Austin and all of the friends and opportunities here. Another is being close to our families in chilly Saskatchewan. And then there’s gorgeous, adventurous — through shockingly expensive — British Columbia. Various work and life opportunities and limitations are tied to each place, and if we really want to dizzy ourselves, we can crank our necks and see infinite options beyond these three (example: I recently found myself in a “Bellingham WA real estate” rabbit hole).

We have both sampled many metaphorical figs — placewise, workwise, and otherwise. For instance, I had climbed branch after branch in academia, only to find the bureaucracy, lack of opportunities, and overall disenchantment left a sour taste in my mouth. We both know we want children, which is a kind of fig that inevitably sends many others to the compost bin. Late last year, we’d excitedly held that pregnant fig  — but only momentarily before it slipped from our grasp to the ground below. 

We remind ourselves that we’re lucky and privileged to have options. Our parents, grandparents, and certainly folks before didn’t have so many alluring, glistening choices, and so many marginalized people still don’t have them. Simultaneously, we hold space for how hard it is to choose, and for how impossible it feels. 

I used to think this was only a position for teenagers on the crux of choosing their degree or trade or job, but I’m certainly no teenager. I stare in awe at anyone who can choose with such conviction. How is that possible? How is anyone with access to so many places and opportunities so sure? Are they sure? 

Perhaps people only have a handful of “jumping off” points we’re sure about. For instance, I know I want to write, and I know I want to have children. And many options don’t call to me — like living in Beverly Hills or studying medicine. 

Something I try to remind myself is best voiced by Sally Draper in Mad Men in a brilliant coming-of-age realization: “I’m so many people.” This idea of holding so many versions and identities of ourselves is emphasized by Michelle Pelizzon, founder of Holisticism, who voices, “You contain multitudes.” In her podcasts and classes, Pelizzon talks about how we’re taught to believe that our identity must be whittled down to one thing — to one fig, if you will. However, in reality, our identity is constantly shifting and holds a myriad of aspects. In that sense, we can cradle multiple figs at once. And Pelizzon doesn’t mean this in an outdated, burnout-inducing “you can have it all” mentality. Instead, we can hold one, try it, change our minds, or add it to our pile of who we are and how we show up. I can be a healthy writer and mother who is well-resourced and in fulfilling relationships. If, for example, I want to pursue a counseling degree at another point, I can pivot and make that happen. 

Perhaps the goal isn’t to choose one perfect fig and to be absolutely 100% certain about it. Perhaps that isn’t even possible, especially with all of the barriers, caveats, and detours that can be thrown our way. Maybe the goal is to instead sample, chew on various parts of our identities, and then create the best fig salad we can muster together. 

This Minor Epiphany recommends:

Podcast: Holisticism’s Podcast, The Twelfth House

Song: “The Barrel” by Aldous Harding