this essay is not about compost

what gardening is teaching me about ambition, part 1

You know how garbage smells…rancid?

Compost doesn’t.

It smells like fresh earth. Like a forest. Why would it, though? Garbage and compost are both just piles of random organic matter that are rotting somewhere.

Thanks to the good people of Gardening YouTube and several hours spent nerding out on things written by ecologists like this and this, I now have my answer:

Compost is alive because it was helped to die; garbage is rotting because we wanted to skip the process of its death.

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I know, I already made things weird—but stick with me here

When formerly-alive things—organic matter like banana peels, cardboard, eggshells, leaves, onion skins, and so on—are fully broken down into their tinier, molecular parts, their once-trapped nutrients are freed up, made available to fuel new growth.

This breakdown doesn’t just happen over time; very, very tiny living things (micro-organisms) work hard to break down those complex materials into their most basic elements, because they need the stuff that we call "waste" for energy.

For this breakdown to go smoothly, there needs to be a variety of material types and sizes in the pile. Too big, and it'll take the little guys AGES to break it all down, many life cycle’s worth. Too small, and the particles will pack together and crowd out oxygen. This is one problem with landfills: the pile gets too big and heavy, so oxygen can't get to the center—and without oxygen, these itty-bitty creatures can't survive to break stuff down. (The smelly decomposition we think of when we think of garbage is called anaerobic fermentation, aka decomposition without oxygen. It stinks.)

But when there’s a good mix materials and microorganisms can do their thing, we aren’t just left with dirt. We get growth fuel—a literal life accelerator. Gardeners often call compost ‘black gold.’ It’s super valuable, and many will pay a LOT of money for it. Others have learned how to make it themselves.

Well, not make it, but care for it.

Yes, really. Care for it.

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To make compost, you have to learn how to tend to the things you once considered “trash”

How gardeners “care for” waste (or, how to make compost):

• Choose a space somewhere outside, shaded from brutal sunlight or soaking rain. Maybe on the ground, up against a fence; maybe in a bin, box, or drum. Doesn’t matter much, just a dedicated spot.

• Gift the pile your food scraps and dead plants. Got natural materials like wood or cardboard? Great, add it to the pile.

• Make sure things are already in small-ish pieces, so your microorganism-friends won’t need to wait generations before they can breakdown that Amazon box you gifted them.

• Every now and then, help the heap breathe by turning everything over a couple times with a shovel; get some much-needed oxygen in there.

• Then, leave it be. Give it time; soon enough, nature will turn the things you “can’t use” and “don’t want” into beautiful, broken-down growth-fuel.

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Which brings us, finally, to my point:

Everything in my life I’ve considered “wasted,” could have been fuel for my growth—if only I had treated it with the respect it deserved.

The careers I quit. The degree programs I dropped out of. Every book, online course, and craft I couldn’t (or simply, didn’t) finish. The projects I planned in detail, but could never bring to life. The fresh day planners with only one week of entries. The drafts I’ve forgotten I ever wrote. The beliefs I’ve abandoned. The many, many, many mistakes I’ve made. The hours, weeks, and years I’ve wasted.

I fed these parts of my life my energy and time and then cut off their supply of both, watching them wither and die. Sometimes I had a good reason for it; other times I’ve felt embarrassed to admit I had none; other times I had nothing to do with that loss of energy and time.

Where I live, we’ve designed systems to get trash as far away from us as possible, as quickly as possible. Remove the garbage from the useful things inside your home; wait for it to be carted away; never think about it again. We treat intangible “waste,” similarly: Avoid inconsistency and quitting things; hide your mistakes; spin underdog stories about your failures; NEVER waste time. Things lost, things abandoned, any and all endings—these should hidden. Focus on the new. The now. Be consistent! 10,000 hours! Self-discipline! Things will get worse before they get better! Stop being such a perfectionist! Why can’t you stick with things!?

The problem is not that my existence has produced “waste” like outgrown beliefs, abandoned careers, used-up attention, lost relationships, or half-started projects.

The problem is that I thought I should be ashamed of these things.

It’s all just compost.

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How I’m learning to “care for” the wasted bits of my life:

• Choose a dedicated a space somewhere, protected from brutal self-judgement or external opinions. Maybe on a recurring schedule, like once a month; maybe in a journal, notion doc, or secret voice note. Doesn’t matter much, just a dedicated spot.

• Gift the pile my disappointments and frustrations. Abandoned idea or failed attempt at something? Add it to the pile.

• Make sure I add to this pile often enough and in small doses, so my heart won’t break before it can recycle the nutrients locked inside those “wasted” moments I gifted it.

• Every now and then, help myself process, by turning everything over a couple times; get some much needed reflection in there. What did this mistake teach me? What did this loss show me about how deeply I cared? What did abandoning this idea help me realize?

• Then, wait. Give it time; soon enough, nature will turn the things I “can’t use” and “don’t want” into beautiful, broken down growth-fuel.

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Compost reminds me that growth doesn’t end with an ending. A plant’s life cycle includes its death; the complete breakdown of its many parts into nutrients, fuel for the next wave of growth.

What would happen if you spent time with your mistakes—appreciating them, reflecting on them—instead of trying to make them disappear from your memory, or hiding them from others?

What would happen if you let all your life’s endings breathe, a little bit? What if, instead of being afraid of them, you let that “death” fuel new life?

I don’t think we have to do anything special for this to work. Seems like life will transform all that loss, and all these endings, into something new anyway—so long as we dedicate a little spot for our life’s “compost pile” and remember to turn it over with compassion, every now and then.

Here’s to rifling through our inner garbage,

—Alexis

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