A bottle of water with an orange slice, cut in half, sits on the counter.
A bag full of veg waits to be cleaned, cut up, and roasted. They'll become soup. A freezer full of bones wait to swim in the slow cooker with scraps to make broth. Dishes wait in the drainer to be put away. A thousand piles of paper wait for a decision. Boxes wait to be opened, contents looked at. More decisions.
I look around and it seems like everything is waiting for me.
The direction of this writing has changed. It began as an ode to what is ready. To what is available. To wondrous abundance. It's become an elegy to what is undone. A different sort of abundance.
But, perhaps, readiness always anticipates the next action. Maybe even lives for it.
My mood shifts when thinking about the piles of paper and the unopened boxes, tasks I am not looking forward to, mainly because I am not yet able to make a decision about them, don't know what to do with it all. And I am stunned by how this awareness sours even the things I look forward to, like creating a beautiful roasted vegetable soup and nourishing bone broth.
The awareness stops me in my tracks and invites reflection.
Procrastination gives you time to consider divergent ideas, to think in nonlinear ways, to make unexpected leaps.
Adam Grant
The Green Wilderness is a daily writing practice that opens a landscape of discovery into my own human experience.
Katherine Cartwright has been blogging since 2012, and each year brings new wonders. She asks big questions of the small things in life.
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