“Dethatching” lawns refer to the mechanical removal from a lawn of the layer of dead turfgrass tissue known as “thatch.” This residue is bad for your grass, as it keeps water and nutrients from seeping down to grassroots.
Source: The Spruce
What’s good for the grass is good for you and me.
We all have stuff that builds up inside. That could be resentments, negative emotions or self-talk, or just some habits that no longer serve us very well.
That layer of “dead tissue” is not only no longer useful, it’s in the way of those things that will make a positive difference to your well-being, your emotional and mental, and maybe even physical health. Maybe that’s forgiveness of an old wrong or a dose of self-confidence, or the realization of a core strength or even an earlier alarm setting to get a jump on the day.
I wish we could just add the good stuff on top of the bad stuff and have it sort out the right way. But it doesn’t work like that. The bad stuff is a stubborn blockade that must be pulled down and tossed aside for the good stuff to do its work.
For my lawn that means getting out a heavy-duty rake or renting a piece of equipment that digs down and pulls out the dead layer beneath the surface. For you and me, that process might look like some combination of quality conversations with people we trust, honest feedback about our strengths and weaknesses, the creation of a development plan, seeing a therapist or coach, digging into helpful reading material, getting regular exercise, periods of quiet reflection, and so on.
The good stuff will find its way to your roots if you make the space it needs. That’s the best and most challenging part of spring.
DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.
Starting here: I recently watched the film, “My Neighbor Totoro” by Hayao Miyazaki. It was recommended by a friend following a conversation on creativity. A children’s film, such as it is, I settled down with my two daughters last Sunday afternoon to check it out. Interestingly enough, the movie centers on two sisters who are adapting to a move to the countryside. As they explore their new home the power of their imagination brings to life magical creatures and incredible happenings, the most significant of which is an enormous tree sprouting from their yard in the middle of the night. In reality they had simply planted some seeds. In their imagination (fueled by their insistence on immediate gratification) the tree erupted from the ground, filled the sky and became their new vantage point on the world around them.
Creativity starts with “rootedness.” A grounding in something solid and well-defined. Seeds are planted, roots move into the earth fed by nutrients and pulled by gravity, preparing for an upward push towards the sky. The tree is simultaneously moving into the earth as it extends itself into open space.
When I weave in Andy Goldsworthy’s idea that “change is best understood by staying in one place” the image of the tree as a metaphor for creative thought and action takes on another layer of meaning. The tree is stationary; growing down to grow up. It is a keen observer of the world around it and it uses this awareness to adapt and to grow. Stay with me here…
Let’s personalize it: I am the tree. If I am well-planted, well-rooted in my beliefs and values; if I am willing to stand firmly in reality, aware of who and what is around me and committed to continuous learning about them, I create the conditions for creative possibility. As I stretch myself upward, I do not do so at the risk of losing my “groundedness,” I do so because of it. My confidence is fed by the core truths at my base; the steady supply of food and water.
Change is a certainty. It is the wind that topples the shallow-rooted tree. Learning, creativity and adaptability are a must in the face of change. And they are only possible when the conditions are right, when the roots are deep.