The Art of Becoming – Chapter 2
Get Out From Under the “Fig Tree”
Life flows with us, offering an endless amount of choices where every path seems both promising and foreboding. Sylvia Plath’s fig tree metaphor, as told in The Bell Jar, perfectly captures this feeling:
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. … I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
The longer you linger in indecision, the more life slips from your grasp. The figs rot while you hesitate. To be human is to be both blessed and cursed with this choice: which fig will you take, and which will you let fall?
The shadow of the fig tree looms large over those who fear the consequences of action. To reach for a fig is to risk everything: to risk failure, to risk ridicule, to risk the haunting question, “What if I’d chosen differently?” So many cling to this shadow, convincing themselves that in stillness lies safety. But stagnation is not safety; it is a slow and pitiful decay.
Others clutch at too many figs, desperate to hoard every possibility. In their hands, the fruits fall from their grasp and bruise; victims of divided attention and wasted energy. The seductive myth of “having it all” leads not to fulfillment, but to exhaustion. The fear of missing out (the thought that there may always be a “better” fig just out of reach) prevents us from ever truly being decisive and direct.
Choosing a fig begins with acknowledging that you cannot have them all. This is not failure, but the freedom to pursue fully what truly matters to you. When faced with the overwhelming abundance of possibilities, start by recognizing which figs are merely tempting distractions. Not all options hold equal weight; some appeal to the ego, to the fear of missing out, or to the desire for external validation. Let those go. Instead, take the figs that feel like truth, the ones that make your chest tighten with longing and your mind buzz with potential.
The question, then, is not whether to choose, but how to choose. How do you discern which figs are worth taking? How do you make peace with the fruits left behind?
The answer lies in ruthless honesty and the act of decision itself. At first, every decision feels crushing and monumental. The truth, however, is that most choices are not final. Most paths are not dead ends but roads that can lead you to unexpected places, perhaps not even on the path you had originally set out to take. To be decisive is not to be reckless; it is to embrace the reality that no choice is without risk. Waiting for certainty is a fool’s errand, as certainty rarely arrives. Instead of seeking perfect clarity, seek resonance. You must find what aligns most deeply with your values, your passions, and your sense of purpose. To choose is not to find a path devoid of obstacles, but to commit to one worth the struggle.
Once you’ve chosen, act. A decision without action is simply a wish. Choices, even small ones, create momentum. The path reveals itself not in contemplation but in movement. Nietzsche wrote,
“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
The why gives direction, but it’s the pursuit that uncovers the how. You won’t always know the exact method or solution at the outset, but by starting, researching, experimenting, and adjusting, you will find your way forward. Remember, you don’t eat the fruit the same day you plant the seeds.
I once sat beneath the fig tree myself. For years, I clutched at every branch, trying to balance too many aspirations. I was in college, running a social media blog, trying to launch art, writing, and music careers all at once while still maintaining some semblance of a social life. But the more I tried to grasp, the less I held. Each pursuit was merely a fragment of what they could’ve been if I had focused my energy.
The moment I chose to let go of the need to do everything and instead prioritized what truly mattered was the moment I began to live. I’ve sprung my art career into action and now have time and energy to dedicate to expanding myself. Writing, my long-buried passion, has become the next fig I shall nurture. This book, wherever you may be reading or listening to it, is the fruit of that choice. The figs I left behind are not failures, but reminders of the roads I chose not to walk. And in their absence, I created space for what truly nourishes my soul.
Understand this: no choice is without sacrifice. But sacrifice is not loss. It is the price of focus, and the cost of becoming.
I urge you to ask yourself:
Look inward, to the dark, uncharted spaces of your own soul. What burns there, silent but insistent?
What aspirations pull you toward them like gravity?
Is there anything you’ve been holding on to simply because you are scared of judgment or the sunken cost fallacy?
Brooke Desieus 