My secret gardens: An ode to Sylvia Plath

A student reflects on their experience of building a social garden and how it changed their relationship with different forms of media.

JUAN COLON / THE TEMPLE NEWS

In a perfect world, I could be this generation’s Sylvia Plath or perhaps even have published research projects. 

Unfortunately, I’m unable to grab a notebook when I’m driving, walking to class or taking a shower to scribble down my spiraling thoughts. Instead, I fall into the depths of my phone because it helps silence the chaos inside my brain. 

I’ve spent all my life-consuming media and falling head over heels for fictional realities. I grew up sliding VHS tapes into our DVR and living in my local library, all before my age reached double digits. These fictional living rooms became a home for me, reminding me I’m not alone. 

My brain organizes all the content I consume into files. Yet, the majority of my archives sit covered by dust. I’ve felt ashamed for being what I would call a failure. Others can sit down and eloquently string their thoughts together, but I’m a jumbled mess of handwritten letters and post-it notes.

I’m not sure why I can’t sit down and develop the ideas I have, but I understand part of it’s having Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. My mind is meant to multitask, but it moves faster than I can keep up with, making it hard to concentrate.

It doesn’t help that it’s normal to only half pay attention to things. It’s common for people to use their phones while watching TV, be distracted on their laptops during class or listening to music when they’re outside. 

This has lingered with me for months. I’ve considered switching to a flip phone to unplug and reduce my online existence. However, it’s hard to exist without a modern smartphone because my profession is media. 

While I was trying to find an answer to my dilemma, I went down a YouTube rabbit hole and stumbled upon a video by creator Anna Howard, called “Creating a Digital Garden to End my Doom Scrolling”. 

Howard describes a digital garden as a space to connect thoughts cohesively by taking notes on the media you consume. It’s taking notes on your experiences and thoughts — it plants all those ideas to create a bigger idea across time. I format mine as journal entries and add quotes from books, podcasts and films with my own interpretations. 

As I planted the seeds for my digital garden, it forced me to reflect on how I support people in my life. I realized that having real-life experiences changes how we support others as I broke my life into bits and pieces. It requires us to connect to those around us instead of prioritizing parasocial relationships.

This realization unfolded as I reflected on being told how my “headaches” sound horrible. I felt agitated as I have migraines, not headaches. It felt more constructive for me to apply it to the bigger picture than to build resentment. 

An episode of “The Golden Girls” that coincides with my experience influenced this big picture. A main character’s journey to get a diagnosis mirrored mine: she visited multiple doctors, who dismissed her until finally receiving an answer. 

When I started digital gardening a few weeks ago, I never thought it would have such an immense impact. I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to make it stick. I hesitated in the beginning, as I didn’t want to commit myself to another failed venture. However, as I kept deliberating, I realized that nothing can grow without a starting point. You have to start something to fail, and with any garden, you must plant a seed.

The harsh truth is that if I don’t produce my ideas, no one else will. If I hesitate to prepare the soil for my online garden, nothing will grow. However, now that I’m past the planting stage, I’m continuing to water and nurture what I’m planting.

I won’t always be present. But, when I have this plentiful garden of thoughts and ideas, I’ll be able to harvest those into a delicacy. With time, I’ve learned that documenting only takes one step. 

The present will never happen again. Thoughts will change as we have experienced them, and if we never write them down, we can’t learn from them. 

Like any garden, I can’t predict if every seed I plant will grow. But regardless of what happens, it’ll give me experience in nurturing my ideas into something more. I want to one day look out my window and see what I’ve grown.

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