Laying Fallow
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.”
In the immediate aftermath of my injury, life felt eerily still. I found myself in a state of forced rest. Before that day, I was constantly moving: juggling work deadlines, architectural designs, family obligations, and personal ambitions. Suddenly, I had no choice but to lie still, like a farmer leaving a field unplanted for a season. Yet, from the perspective of two years hence, I am beginning to realize that lying fallow was not a loss; it was a chance to replenish.
When my “crop” inevitably failed, my first instinct was to rapidly plant anew. However, like overworked soil, my mind and body needed time to heal, to regain nutrients lost in the frenzy of constant activity. Now, on quiet days, I reflect on my life’s priorities: Am I designing my days in a way that truly aligns with my values? Do I offer enough of my time and attention to the relationships that matter most? Thoreau’s words resonate because in stillness I am starting to discover a deliberate way of living, rather than rushing.
The decision to pause was not in any way my own, but the outcome—an opportunity to nurture my “inner field”—became a critical first step on this renewed journey. I can see from the perspective of two years hence that sometimes the best thing we can do for our future growth is to stop, rest, and let the soil of our souls recover. By doing so, we prepare for a more fruitful season ahead—one where we plant seeds of purpose with greater intention.
[Thoreau, Henry David. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Ticknor and Fields, 1854.]