Fallow ground

We tend to disappear and reappear based on enthusiasm, time, and [energy]. I read once that farmers will let a field fallow in order to give the soil a rest; an inactive period to help replenish its nutrients so that whatever it cultivates will grow again, more prodigious than before. I think that people and soil have a lot in common.

G. Boston

Before I sat down to type out my first draft, I reread my January 2023 Blank Inside and January 2024 I Have a Cup posts. There is certainly a consistent pattern to my thoughts at the new year. Probably a good idea to study the understory of those thoughts. As I have written previously: self examination, a fun little hobby in midlife. And not always comfortable!

I find myself not merely inhabiting a calendar season, but an agrarian season without a definitive end date. Again, there’s that edge of discomfort inviting me to lean into it. What does it mean to be fallow? Here’s my take.

Fallow ground may look barren and empty with nothing planted. But much is happening below the earth’s surface. The soil is composting, busy bacteria are breaking down organic matter into smaller slivers that mix and integrate with the dirt. Germinating and enriching what’s already there. Regenerating the soil. Transforming it from lackluster, parched, and crumbly to rich, loamy, fertile ground from which new beginnings can take root, grow, and flourish.

The sun shines and the rain falls on fallow ground during its dormancy. But time is what the land needs to rest, recover, and naturally cycle nutrients back into the soil.

I do feel gratitude and curiosity for this period of time to go “fallow.”

For the first time in my adult life I’m standing outside the hustle culture: not working full time, no kids’ schedules to juggle, reduced household demands in this revolving door/empty nesting. It’s been almost a year since I traded my 50 hour/week corporate role for teaching yoga in the evenings and becoming a substitute teacher. 

My, how things have come full circle. I began my education career as a substitute teacher, when I applied for my Oregon teaching license after graduating from college in California. I found myself subbing again in 2012, upon leaving my 18 year career in K-12 public education. And in what would have been the year I retired, had I stayed the course in education, I became a substitute teacher for the third go round!

In this season of fallow-ness, I’m mostly content with subbing a handful of days a month and my unconventional routines. Exploring volunteer gigs. Savoring more quiet and spaciousness in my existence. And my favorite – sharing the gift of yoga with my yoga students is the highlight of each week and it feels like an honor to practice with them.

And yet, deep in my bones…deep in my fallow earth…I know there’s another adventure waiting to unfold. My impatience, my deeply programmed sense of productivity and my expectation/desire to try a new challenge all resist the waiting. When I resist the fallowness, I sidestep the mystery and the possibilities.

These emotions sometimes bubble up as guilt or feeling unworthy, even melancholy some days. And I try to befriend them all, even when it’s uncomfortable. I have learned that emotions (energy in motion) are like weather. They come and go, and the most important thing is to stay the course. To not distract, escape, or numb. Just to stay present, get curious, and pay attention while the cycle completes. There’s usually an understory to a strong emotion.

I like goals, I like action, I like plans. My whole life is evidence of these tendencies. Yet I’m choosing to live with none of these and I’m not entirely sure why yet.

I feel compelled to wait. To lean into the questions. To live with ambiguity in all its opportunity and limberness. Maybe liminal space is where this journey of midlife continues to take me. At each juncture, I discover myself, again, on the threshold.