Last week I got the brilliant idea of sprouting my own green onions from Pinterest, and so far they are the only chlorophyll-containing organisms I have managed to not kill within about 48 hours. (Knock on non-living processed wood.)
I originally bought a bunch of eight onions and promptly diced the green parts of four of them to make an epic amount of fried rice. Then I stuck the white parts, along with the remaining four whole onions, into an erstwhile jar of Trader Joe knockoff Nutella.
Within about 24 hours, the whole onions were getting all dry and crispy at the ends. (“TURGOR! TURGOR! We have catastrophic turgor loss!!” is the message I imagine frantically shooting through the poor plants’ plasmodesmata. Good God, I need to get back into a bio classroom.) But the ones I had chopped to the white parts were busily sprouting new growth. (I like to think my daily cheers of “Go go green onion baby go!” had something to do with it. Maybe the CO2 from my breath.)
And so the object lesson is clear and timely: sometimes to make room for the new, one must get rid of the old. Old thought habits. Old lies internalized. Old distortions taken as facts. Old dysfunctions that crowd out truth and beauty. The trimming can be traumatic, but maybe it’s the only way to grow.