Fallow periods are something to savor. Times of low productivity can be one of life’s luxuries. Though there might be no outward proof of action or making—nothing written, nothing built—such time is hardly wasted; puzzles are explored and problems solved in the head. And these quiet times give me a chance to scrape off the emotional muck that accumulates and coats my brain over time. Fields are left fallow, after all, to make the earth fertile in future seasons. Just because we can’t see the cornstalks or the swaying wheat doesn’t mean that nothing valuable is happening there underneath the
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