A couple of years ago I rescued a banana plant. It was sitting on a bench at the garden centre with some other bedraggled specimens ‘going cheap’. I was still mourning the loss of a beautiful tree fern that had succumbed to the frost earlier in the year (rather, I had neglectfully not covered it).
It was early autumn so I knew that I would have to keep it inside for a few months without ever really knowing whether it would revive.
The plant now sits gloriously in my office. In all honesty I did very little other than keep it indoors and water it. Several clients have commented on it (usually to point out that there are some shrivelled leaves that I may not have noticed). But as I’ve relocated it’s become a point of familiarity – ‘oh, the plant has survived the move’.
With the arrival of spring, it’s found another fertility gear and huge leaves are sprouting forth in all their glory. At times, it seems like you can actually see them growing and, most amazingly of all, as one leaf reaches its full size, you can see the tiny spiral of a new leaf on it’s way.
Recently, the idea of ‘letting go’ has been taking a lot of my attention. A few days ago I moved for the 9th time in my adult life. Many of those moves have been hundreds of miles apart. All have meant letting go in some sense.
Friendships are of course the hardest to ‘let go’. Yes, the friendship remains but it takes on a new form, no longer physically but digitally present. Familiar places and routines are gone and new ones need to be found (a good dog groomer and hairdresser are always the most challenging!). It’s time to let go of possessions too – do I really need 2 sets of barbecue tools when my new home has no room for a barbecue?
The weeks leading up to the move are clouded by an anticipated grief, particularly as the one departing. Life for those you have left behind will continue as before, the show will go on (quite literally in the case of my musical theatre group) …without you. During the ‘departure’ period I often hear – ‘you must be used to it by now,’ that in some way I would be hardened to the process.
But, in all honesty, I’m glad I’m not.
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Letting go is not for the faint hearted.
It’s a time for mourning what is past.
But letting go also creates space.
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The dying leaves on the banana plant are not just a sign of my neglectful horticulture but a reminder. A reminder that there will be loss, but loss can feed new growth.
Something new is on it’s way.
