So today we’re going to talk about dried fruit. Yes, really.
There’s a whole negative analogy going on about aging. We dry up. We shrivel. We wrinkle. We shrink. We make like dried fruit.
A distillation of energy
And you know what? Bring it on.
Because dried fruit is the very distillation and concentration of everything that made the fruit luscious and delicious in the first place.
We all develop from our planet home. Whether we’re a person or a plum, we’re nourished by the sun and the rain and the fertile soil.
In the case of us humans, it’s a bit more complicated. We’re also nourished (or not) by the choices we make, by what we value, by our habits, our laughter, our thoughts and our emotions. We’re nourished by failure perhaps more than by success; by getting through nights of pain and grief then rising in the morning to continue our lives; by our attempts to make a positive difference in the world.
But the sweetness isn’t inevitable. Some dried fruit isn’t prepared very well. Or perhaps it’s made from inferior crops. It’s bitter.
In all this business of living, of growing older, I’m convinced it’s our moment-by-moment choices that turn us into succulent raisins, not shrivelled currants.
If you hear yourself complaining constantly, let it go. (Remember, Crones don’t whine!) If there’s something you really want to do but you’re afraid, take the first step. Invite beauty into your life. Be eager for new experiences. Make the right choices, which can sometimes mean hard choices. Because you want that concentrated essential you to be succulent and sweet, not bitter and dusty, don’t you?
And now I think that’s about as far as I can develop this fruity parable, so I’m just going to come out and say it: I want to become a radiant raisin, a passionate prune. What about you?
This talk of rising in the morning after a night of grief reminds me of the poem And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. If you don’t know it, watch her performing it here. You won’t be sorry.