I spent the past few months postponing a rose problem. We have a beautiful red rose bush in our back yard. We call her Rosita. Every year, Rosita, very uncharacteristic of her name, puts on a huge blooming show starting in the spring and culminating with a dazzling display the first week of July. Normally, by this time of year, the buds have exploded into gigantic, softball-sized clouds of red with a fragrance so delightful you can smell it all over the yard. But this year’s July display was disappointing. Her show was like one of those $39.95 fireworks kits you buy at the roadside stand that promise a Disneyland spectacular but deliver a pipsqueak pop and a two-second flash in the sky. You know what I mean.
Anyway, I knew something was wrong. This weekend I decided to find the cause. Turns out, Rosita had an infection. A string of ivy had made its way onto her branches, and despite her sharp thorny defenses, she was being strangled by this invasive parasite. Dead branches lay in the wake of this rose-choking assassin. After a careful chat with Rosita, we all agreed: surgery was required.
Thorn-proof gloves on. Pruning shears in hand. I went to work extracting the invader. Carefully and deliberately, I cut away the dusty dead branches and spiraling vines. Rosita’s home would be free of these life-sucking vampires. A few hours later (yes, I’m quite slow), the operation was complete. Rosita was free again to thrive. I held my breath, wondering if it was too late. But just a few days later, roses began to appear again. New sprouting branches. New leaves. New life. That’s right, Rosita was back! Her red blooms were exploding with their usual charm.
This weekend I sat outside for a moment, enjoying the display Rosita was putting on for us, and thinking about the lesson I’d just learned. Things can enter our lives that slowly erode our ability to do what we do best. The parasites grow, slowly but surely sucking the life right out of our efforts. They can even create dead weight that keeps us from growing in new directions.
If you’re like me, you might have procrastinated a bit too much. Now the ivy is everywhere. But it’s not too late! Put on the gloves. Grab the pruning shears and go to work. Trim out what’s sapping the life out of you: the useless busywork, the habitual process that seems healthy but is actually a lie. No roses bloom from ivy. Snip. Take your time. Find the toil, find the useless weight that burdens your day. Remove it. Clean it up. Set your schedule free so you can breathe, grow, and bloom.
Okay, I confess, this note today was probably more for me than for you. But maybe, somehow, it resonates with you too, or with someone you love. If so, share it.
Clean out the ivy. Be a Rosita. Go put on a show.