shhh you're okay now. sylvia plath fig tree metaphor can't hurt you anymore
you know you can just do things, right?
“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. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. 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.”
Why are you, a reasonably high-functioning and intelligent young person, so attached to the grief of not getting to accomplish over 8 wildly amazing things in your lifetime that most people can never dream of even as children? And just so you know, there are people more adept and talented and capable than you will ever be who want less.
It’s crazy you think you have self-esteem issues. Would a person with low self-esteem believe that they deserve 8 figs when most people don’t even get one? How are you regretting already that you’ll never be a famous professor and poet and astronaut and cowboy and Olympic lady crew champion? Don’t you ever pretend that you suffer from “imposter syndrome.” You relish in the imagination of success and luxury, never glorifying hard work. If you don’t get 8 figs, I promise it’s not going to be because of your indecision.
It’s not special to want things and to never be satisfied. You think everyone else is so complacent. Yet maintaining normalcy, being happy, seeking beauty; all of it is a fight. These so-called simpletons struggle each day to keep life meaningful.
That chick on your Pinterest board? Joan Didion? She got one, maybe two figs at most. And she spent the last years of her life grieving and regretting the death of her daughter. Joan DIDION got one fig, and it was a life of being a talented and respected writer. Maybe if she put out a cigarette on your arm, you’d finally feel worthy.
You know who had a bunch of figs? Roman Polanski. Everything exciting happened to him. In the words of Dan Mintz, “Roman Polanski lived an amazing life. He was a Holocaust survivor and his wife was murdered by Charles Manson. And he raped a 13 year old. And he is an award winning director.” That’s a life with all the figs. Being a talented director and a rapist who should’ve died in Sharon Tate’s place.
People have told you “shoot for the moon, you’ll land among the stars” and you should believe them. If you’re trying to become an astronaut you should not be screaming crying throwing up at the prospect of being a QA Engineer at Lockheed Martin. Why are you so angry? You are 87% there.
You should be grateful that you are not Esther Greenwood. Sure, she was exceptional for her time and age and a recognizably accomplished and intelligent young woman. She is also a depressed and fairly racist woman who will probably never be happy. You know you don’t have to relate to her specifically to feel like a smart person, right?
I’m sorry to tell you this, but “actually if you’re extremely high agency, normal probabilities don’t apply to you.” I didn’t want to say it because I typically associate this kind of advice with some really annoying people on Twitter, but I’ll step in and be your post-rationalist tech bro boyfriend and tell you that. You can just do things. You’ll probably actually become pretty good at things, too. You wouldn’t have such premature regrets if you didn’t have at least some evidence that you were capable.
Esther lacks the imagination to see herself as the tree, which needs sunlight, care, and pruning. It will be pleasantly fragrant and fruit depending on the season. But you can be the tree. In fact, you are the tree.
You know what wasn't one of Esther’s figs? Being a good friend. Caring for others and being a pillar in the community. You don't need electroshock therapy. Just try thinking about yourself less. Or even just in a slightly less toxic way. Be okay with being bad at things for a while. The figs are things you grow yourself. Let that wasp in to die inside of you!
Inspired by Daniel Lavery for The Toast
Recommended reading:
finally i learned about this fig thing without having to read plath
thank you for this, not least because i forgot about the lizzie bennet post and this was a delightful reminder