When we are more in tune with our reality, and our inner self we become more aware of everything that makes/creates/sustains our life. I’m finding that these days it’s coming from the simplest things, like my plants. It’s everywhere in my tiny little townhome, and the lack of space isn’t stopping me from getting any more. It’s completely obsessive. It’s my serotonin these days. Like any other plant enthusiast there is a serenity and beauty with owning and caring for a living breathing plant. Who spends their days obsessing over lights and humidifiers and moss poles and soil and pots and all that other plant life stuff? *Raises hand* Me. I’m quite proud of my growing collection.
Recently there seems to a boom in new leaves among my brood. Everyday I’m surprised to discover many of them sprouting new life, when just the night or days before I’m feeling heartbroken over yellowing leaves or some leaves falling off. Why are you doing this? Why are you leaving me right now? Self says to self, “Abby, your plant is not going to keep all its leaves. It needs to lose some to create room for the new ones.” I hear it in church too. You can’t make room for new blessings when you’re holding on to the old. It’s in my social media, let go, let flow bullshit. You can’t deny certain things when they appear just about everywhere. Everyday my plants are teaching me the lesson of letting go. Things dying, but new life coming. It’s pretty miraculous how that all works.
Then of course there are the plants that just die. No matter what I do. Those are the toughest. Where did I go wrong? I gave you all my love and you left me?! How could you! We had a thing you and me! You were expensive! (Insert agony emoji here). We’re invested when we buy these plants, especially the more expensive ones, and then they die on us. Sometimes that’s just what happens right? Love dies. Friendships fade. The people and things we thought would never go away, lose their luster. We give them the best care we can, or atleast we think we are, and poof. They’re here and then they’re not. We find ourselves going over everything. Did I give it enough sun? Enough water? Maybe I used the wrong soil. Did I not give it enough attention? Did I give it too much? Questions we ask ourselves in parallel to the little deaths (love, friendships, jobs, self and the like) in our lives.
I’m staring at my mass cane palm, Viv. She’s been with me for a little over a year. She started off great. Gorgeous shiny leaves. She required little care it seemed, so I paid her no mind most times. In comparison to my other plants, I thought she didn’t need much from me. Then she began to lose her leaves at an alarming rate. She was repotted several times, new soil, new pot. She gave little indications she was gonna make a comeback, sprouting tiny leaves one day, and then wilting the next. But she never did make a comeback. It wasn’t until recently I discovered rot in her roots. Rot in her trunks. It’s all very poetic when I relate it to my life these days. Thinking of my own roots. How many times I tried to “repot” myself. Outwardly it all looked great. But in the inside, I was rotting. My roots stopped growing because they were damaged. So busy trying to make the outside look good, that the inside, the stuff you’re made of needs care too. It needs addressing. It needs love.
I haven’t had the heart to get rid of her yet. I keep hoping I can revive her somehow. She hasn’t been happy for a long time. Just like me, I keep seeing her trying to fight. We’re just both trying to figure shit out. Fix our roots. Fix our soil. Our environment. Our vessel in which we grow. Drink lots of water. Get as much as sun and air as we can. I think I’m going to hold on to her a little while longer. I haven’t lost hope in her. I haven’t lost hope in me. I’m learning to be just as obsessive about my growth as I am with my plants.