I'm not a gardener. I don't have the consistency for gardening, and I have barely enough for an orchard. I don't embarrass myself. You have to be there tending and weeding. With orchards, you can go through negligent periods and recover.

Build a life around your nature

There's something honest about knowing exactly what kind of person you are—and what that means for how you live. Pullman isn't making excuses; he's making a real distinction most people skip over. Gardens demand constant attention. Miss a week of weeding, and you've got a problem. But orchards operate on a different timeline. They're more forgiving of your actual self, the one who gets distracted or overwhelmed or just needs a break.

This matters because we live in an age of trying to be everything at once. Everyone's supposed to be disciplined, consistent, present. But Pullman's insight suggests something radical: maybe the smarter move isn't to force yourself into a shape you don't fit. Maybe it's to build a life around your genuine temperament. If you know you're someone who runs in sprints rather than marathons, why torture yourself with daily habits? Better to design things that can survive your seasons of drift and still produce something real.

The hidden genius here is that he's not settling—he's being strategic. Orchards still require work, still need you eventually. But they let you show up as yourself, negligence and all, and still harvest something meaningful. That's not lowering standards. That's understanding how you actually work.