Pick the low-hanging fruit
In my "day job" as a marketing communications writer, I grudgingly participate in all kinds of business jargon. One of my least favorites has always been, "Let's pick the low-hanging fruit," meaning, let's take an approach that requires the smallest effort for the greatest return. If you had asked me a year ago why this phrase irritated me so, I probably would have complained about business leaning too heavily on nature for metaphor.
But what I now understand about the dissonance between the low-hanging fruit and me is this: I have always, on a cellular level, taken offense to the idea that something worthwhile could be easy. Until now.
In fact, this weekend, I spend a late morning with my son, my brother and his sons picking the low-hanging fruit from their plum tree. Having dozens and dozens of perfect plums surrendering into our hands from the low branches was an unprecedented ecstasy after all these years of urban living. And though the collecting process was effortless, I had no idea what one does with dozens of plums. Oh, how I love a learning curve! The next, few days were spent researching recipes and rediscovering my baking powders, flours and tins. I baked a plum cobbler and a plum upside down cake. I fell in love with plums uplifted in butter, sugar and gluten free flour. And I discovered that easy is not the equivalent or boring or stagnant. It is instead a surprisingly obvious and joyful path of illumination. I who have spent my life avoiding the kitchen as if it had wronged me in childhood have not left the stove and flour-dusted counters in days. Today I moved on to researching beet recipes for my latest harvest from my own garden, and ways to enliven meals with the mint that flirts its perfect, fuzzy leaves at me all along the edge of our deck.
In fact, I think I've gone a bit "pick the low-hanging fruit" crazy. My office has been taken by storm with the impulse. I completely overhauled my submission system in about ten minutes–in a way that made me feel overcome with the desire to send out my work. Then I spent the next, ten minutes submitting two batches of poems to two contests. I did everything on my to-do list that could be done in less than a minute. I had a revelation about the trash can, the bookshelf. I got the envelopes out for a mailing I've been dreading. Somehow, this made it feel easier having the supplies at hand. In short, I allowed myself to do what felt easy and "right" from moment to moment. This gave me energy and enthusiasm. I wasn't struggling to make myself behave/accomplish/meet deadline or any of the various things I have a tendency to strictly embrace.
True, I could have forced myself to revise that pressing client FAQ in the ten minutes dedicated to my submission binder. However, I believe I was far more efficient by doing what I was moved to do first. By the time I sat down to the FAQ, I was high on the satisfaction of an orderly system that reflects my current goals and priorities. My basket was already full of the low-hanging fruit, and now I was able to stretch a bit higher, balance on my toes a bit longer. The FAQ went quickly and well.
There is nothing simpler, nothing more complicated than identifying and moving toward what is comfortably in reach.
What could you do in the next, three minutes that would take your writing life just a breath closer to where you want it to be? Would you be willing to clear three minutes right now to do it? How does it feel to trust yourself that much? To get your will out of the way ever so briefly and let another guidance system lead you forward?
There is no taste in the world like plum upside down cake. What low-hanging fruit is about to effortlessly land in your mixing bowl, and what will you make of it?
