Before the Figs Rot

I’m watching my figs rot right in front of me simply because I cannot choose which one to eat first.

There are many things to be in this lifetime—a poet, a teacher, a doctor, a pharmacist—and yet, I stand with the options in front of me, watching them rot and slowly drop from the tree because I can’t decide which one looks the sweetest, the juiciest. 

I’ve decided that you don’t have to pick a singular fig to be successful or to mean something in this world. You can pick as many as you’d like. Now, you don’t have to bite off more than you can chew, but having hobbies and passions and dreams—it’s never a waste. 

Learn to paint, play the piano for your loved ones, get engrossed in a good book you simply cannot tear your eyes away from. Do anything. Do something. 

“Medicine, business, law. These are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, romance, love. These are what we stay alive for.” 

These are the wise words of Mr. J. Keating.

We survive on practicality, but we live for art. 

The home in which you reside was created by someone’s artistic abilities. The books on your shelf were made by someone’s passion, someone’s creativity. The painting your mom bought you for Christmas that hangs in your living room? Someone spent hours creating that with a paintbrush guided by love. 

Someone loved something enough to make it real. 

So, do it. Pick the fig. Eat whichever one you want. Hell, eat all of them!

And do it regardless of the circumstances. 

Do it regardless of what people might say.

You might hear people whisper incredulously in corners and say, “Look how many figs she’s got!”

Yes, look how many figs you’ve got! 

Look at all these things you’re doing—the things you’re going to do!

You do not have to just sit there and commit to one profession and one profession only. There are so many things to do, so many things to love. 

So, now, I find my arms full of figs. One shows me a typewriter—me writing stories that leave hand prints on my soul; another shows me in front of a classroom—I’m teaching children how to write something true rather than impressive, teaching them their thoughts matter. Their voice matters; the next one I pick is me somewhere green, across the world maybe. I’m travelling solo. I’m finding myself. 

The point is, there are unlimited possibilities in this world. There isn’t just one correct answer. In fact, there’s no answer at all. 

If you’re looking for the answer, you have to look inward.

Robin Buckley once said:

“I was looking for the answers in somebody else, but I had all the answers. I just needed to stop being so goddamn scared.”

Pick your figs. Pick all of them. Don’t settle for less than you’re worth.

Don’t let your figs rot because you were too afraid of being seen holding too many. 

From my window seat to yours,

Chiara