the fig tree
“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.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
The mornings are peaceful when I’m home in Virginia.
No matter the weather, dad opens the sliding door to the backyard. In the warmer months, the humidity hits early on as the sun barely peers through the blinds. It's the bright chirping of cicadas and the coo of doves that lets you know it’s morning. When it’s cold, the air bites at your toes when you come into the kitchen to make a morning coffee.
I think about what life would’ve looked like for me if I stayed there. It doesn’t happen often, but there are times when I see scenes from a life I’ve never actually lived. Mostly mundane, living in the everyday stillness that I often have in London. It’s like I can cut myself out of this life and paste myself back home. Same me, different font.
I came across a TikTok recently about Sylvia Plath’s fig tree analogy, which she writes about in The Bell Jar. In the video a woman shared her “figs” - all the lives she would’ve lived had she not chosen the path that she was currently on, and it inspired me to write down mine.
Just like in the analogy, met with all the choices that lie ahead, I often freeze. I take comfort in the solace of doing nothing knowing that there is no misstep to stumble over, because I won’t be moved.
When I decided to get divorced, I was worried about so many things, one of which being the outcome if I had chosen wrongly. After the separation and divorce, after another failed relationship that followed, I felt like I was the type of woman who always made the wrong decisions, otherwise I wouldn’t keep making (what felt like) mistakes.
I rewatched Past Lives again last weekend, it was one of my favourite films I watched last year. There is something about the quiet questioning that runs through it so deeply comforting. At the beginning of the film, it’s established that Nora’s family is going to emigrate from South Korea to North America and a family friend is asking Nora’s mom why she would leave this seemingly beautiful and wonderful life she has established for herself, uproot her family and start again.
“If you leave something behind, you gain something too,” she explains.
This newsletter is dedicated to my figs, my past lives. All the versions of me that never came to pass, or are simultaneously out there living in parallel to me now.
Nicole who never left Virginia
She’s someone I can so rarely picture because I had spent the majority of my teenage and young adult years strategically manouvering to get the hell out of Virginia. I look back on my hometown fondly now, but at the time, I really did believe I was somehow born in the wrong place. Suburban life felt stifling to me and I so desperately wanted out. This version of me would either have to have an entirely different mindset or a major change in perspective. But I think if I never left, I imagine I would have studied more. Perhaps a PhD, I may have tried my hand at teaching or psychology. There really isn’t much small about Northern Virginia, but I imagine that my life would be a lot more slow paced. Formulaic? A house, a husband, a kid, a dog. That sort of thing. I often wonder if that’s the only place I can have those things.
Nicole who moved to New York City
This is a dream I may not ever let go of. The place I fell in love with before I ever came to London. My original plan was to go to Columbia University to do my journalism masters, but my dad encouraged me to study (quite literally) anywhere else because the fees were astronomical, even in 2010. In order for me to not graduate hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, I flew over 3,000 miles. My first big New York City dream was to be on Broadway. I loved singing and performing. I can carry a tune, but I don’t think I’ve ever been an actress. I was a theatre kid, of course, so I did a workshop on Broadway one summer and fell in love. I thought I would work in magazines, I thought I would work in fashion, I thought I’d work in an art gallery. New York was there for me to project every last one of my creative dreams onto, and not having a single idea about how any of it works, even now. Every now and then I look over at that life and think of diving into it. I haven’t tried it yet, but you never know, there’s still time.
Nicole who never got married
My ex-husband and I had one big fight before we decided that we were going to get married. My memory of this is a bit hazy now around the specifics, but I remember telling him that I could feel him pulling away and that if he was going to leave he should just do it already but that I was all in. We hadn’t moved in together, but he was essentially living with me. At the time, he walked out and I thought it would be the last time we would ever speak. He came back again late in the evening, but I wonder what would’ve happened if he didn’t. That moment was such a turning point in our relationship and set us up for those next stages, engagement, moving in, getting married. Sometimes I worry that I pushed it. But we were two happy, in love people for a long time. I suppose if there is one thing I’ve learned about love since my marriage ended is how much I have of it. What an abundant and beautiful thing it is to share with people that you’re close to, and with people you may only see once or twice. Although a lot of the decisions I made in that relationship stemmed from a bit of fear, there was love too, and the me who never got married would have that regardless.
Nicole who didn’t get divorced
I’m turning 36 this year, which is surreal to think about. I hate to admit that I often think about whether or not I’ll have children - biologically at least. My ex-husband and I had wanted them (me, at least one - as an only child it never bothered me to have just the one), talked about them often. But I held off for a long while knowing that I was unsure. Unsure of him, unsure of us. I wanted everything to be set up perfectly, I wanted our jobs to be right, I wanted a house for us. The me who didn’t get divorced I’m sure would have had a child by now. I’m sure I would have run out of reasons not to. I doubt the fear would have slipped away, but replaced with all kinds of new ones instead. But I know the me who didn’t get divorced would’ve loved being a mom.
About me: I'm Nicole, the writer of The Noteworthy. I’m also a content creator and the co-host of the award-winning Mixed Up podcast. Having been chronically online since the age of 13, you can also find me on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and Pinterest. I’m working on my first book, The Half Of It, which you can pre-order here.
What beautiful words Nicole.
I, too, have pondered my other selves time and time again. But really, even if they were never fully realised, isn't it lovely to think fragments of those selves exist in us now?
This was an incredibly moving piece to read. I've thought of this a lot myself, either upon reflection or sometimes even, when I'm at a crossroads in life and have to pick one direction or the other. Thank you so much for sharing something so vulnerable and honest.