The Pruning Problem
I used to think pruning was about removing dead things.
Cut off what's dying. Get rid of what's broken. That makes sense.
But then I watched someone prune a healthy shrub. They were cutting off perfectly good branches. Green ones. Growing ones. Branches that looked like they were doing exactly what branches are supposed to do.
"Why are you cutting those?" I asked.
"So the plant can focus," they said.
What Pruning Actually Is
Here's what I didn't understand about gardening until recently.
A plant will grow in every direction it can. That's its job. But when it spreads too wide, it can't put enough energy into any single branch. It produces less fruit. The growth looks impressive, but it's shallow.
Pruning isn't about removing what's dead. It's about removing what's healthy but unfocused. You cut good branches so the remaining ones can thrive.
It feels wrong. You're killing something that's working.
But the plant grows better for it.
The Same Thing Happens When You Create
I'm seeing this pattern in my own projects now.
When you start something new—a novel, a business, a system—it grows in every direction. Ideas branch out. Possibilities multiply. You explore this angle, then that one. Some of it is garbage, sure. But a lot of it is genuinely good.
And that's the problem.
Because now you have five good directions instead of one great one. You have chapters that are well-written but don't serve the story. Features that are clever but don't fit the product. Systems that work but complicate everything else.
The project gets overgrown. Not with dead weight. With living weight.
The Hard Part
This is where it gets difficult for me.
Cutting bad work is easy. You know it's bad. Good riddance.
Cutting good work? That hurts. You put time into it. It has value. It could go somewhere.
But "could" isn't the same as "should."
I'm learning to ask a different question. Not "Is this good?" but "Is this where the project is actually going?"
If the answer is no, it might be time to prune.
What Happens After You Cut
Here's the part that surprises me every time.
When I finally cut a direction I've been holding onto—a subplot, a feature idea, a branch of possibility—my mind clears. Almost immediately.
I didn't realize how much energy I was spending keeping that option alive. Wondering if I should go back to it. Half-planning how it might work. Carrying the weight of a decision I hadn't made.
Pruning isn't just about the project. It's about your attention. You can't focus on what matters when you're still watering branches you're not going to keep.
Where I'm Still Uncertain
I'll be honest. I don't always know which branches to cut.
Sometimes I've pruned too early and regretted it. Sometimes I've held on too long and let the whole thing get tangled.
I don't have a perfect system for this. Mostly I wait until the overgrowth starts slowing me down. Until I notice I'm avoiding the project because there's too many directions to hold in my head.
That's usually the signal. Too many good options is its own kind of stuck.
Try This
Look at something you're building right now. Not the dead parts—you probably already know what those are.
Look at the healthy parts that aren't going anywhere. The ideas you're keeping alive "just in case." The directions you started but aren't actually pursuing.
What would happen if you cut one of them loose? Not deleted forever. Just decided: I'm not going that way.
You might be surprised how much lighter the whole thing feels.
What branch have you been afraid to prune?