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The more you force your growth, the less it holds.
It sounds counterintuitive. And yet.
In the living world, a plant pushed beyond its natural rhythm can give the illusion of vigor.
But that strength is unstable.
It holds… until it doesn’t.
In my last letter, I wrote about plasticity: the ability to shift direction without betraying oneself.
The responses I received confirmed something essential:
These principles are not meant to transform us.
They mostly shift our perspective.
And when perspective shifts, our relationship to effort, time, and progress shifts with it.
This letter continues in that direction.
A simple question, rarely asked directly:
What happens when we force our growth…
and what do we gain by respecting our rhythm?
A concrete example: my tomato seedlings
This is exactly the risk I take when I start my tomato seedlings in January.
Warm conditions. Limited light.
They can grow too fast, stretch, and weaken.
It’s a special case because I monitor them. I adjust.
And let’s be honest — who has the patience to wait until October for their first tomato?
What I like about this example is its simplicity:
We can choose acceleration…
As long as we see the cost —
and compensate for it.
Some plants tolerate acceleration.
Others never negotiate their rhythm — no matter what we offer them.
A Plant Pause — The CamelliaWhile working on this letter, I thought again of a fragment I once wrote — an expedition notebook dedicated to the camellia.
It was barely read. And that may be exactly right.
The camellia does not like to be rushed.
It accepts travel, relocation, different skies.
But it never negotiates its rhythm.
In the notebooks, one sentence returns, simple, almost dry:
I asked when it bloomed exactly.
I was told: when it is ready.
That fragment is not there to illustrate an idea.
It is there to hold a presence.
If you’d like to walk through that notebook (3–4 minutes), you’ll find it here:
Expedition Notebook ~ Camellia ~ 1692–1906
What this changes in writing and communicationAfter encountering a plant like the camellia, some things become hard to ignore.
I believe many of our communication struggles resemble those early seedlings:
→ We want traction quickly.
→ We want visibility.
→ We try to force a rhythm that the system isn’t ready for.
The result?
It grows, yes…
But it doesn’t hold.
By contrast, what truly roots itself doesn’t need to be spectacular.
That’s how some of the paths opened here on Substack have taken shape:
No major launch. No dramatic push.
Just a steady, natural pace.
They may never be “viral.”
That’s not the goal.
They will grow at their own rhythm.
And in a few months, they will still be here — clearer, deeper, more reliable.
La Clairière de Reliance ~ La Voix du Sol ~ Le Souffle Commun
A principle from the guide — Slow growth
In a guide I wrote some time ago, I tried to put into words
what the living world applies without ever stating:
Slow growth is not a flaw.
It is a strategy.
What grows too fast breaks.
What grows at the right pace endures.
That is exactly what I try to cultivate here as well.
The 14-day practice — Grow just enough
I’d like to offer a deliberately simple exercise.
Not a challenge. Not a performance. A ritual.
For 14 days, dedicate 10 minutes a day to a single micro-action that nourishes your communication.
For example:
– write a few lines
– refine a sentence
– publish a short note
– comment on someone’s work
– read five minutes of something inspiring
– sort one idea
Just one action. Every day.
At the end, ask yourself:
– What has grown?
– What has become clearer?
– What feels lighter?
You can jot it down roughly. It doesn’t have to be polished.
The goal is not to produce.
It is to return to alignment.
If you try this exercise, I’d be curious to hear what you observe.
Does something feel lighter?
Does something hold better?
I’d be glad to read you.
~~~
PS : Some plants adapt so deeply to a place that they stop resisting it.
I wrote a short note about the genetics of my tomatoes — seven generations selected to thrive here.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Whether you’ve been here for a while or just arrived,
I hope these lines have found their rhythm in you.
See you soon,
— Franz
Circulating what matters.