The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant


From Plant Killer to Plant Parent (Almost)

We’ve all been there. You walk into the grocery store for milk and eggs, and walk out with a bouquet of sunflowers, a bag of limes (because, margaritas!), and a cute little houseplant that whispered promises of serenity and fresh air. At least, that’s how it goes in my world. I, my friends, am a sucker for the hopeful allure of a vibrant peace lily or a sprightly spider plant.

Now, I wouldn’t call myself a serial plant killer, but let’s just say I’ve witnessed more than my fair share of wilting leaves and drooping stems. So, when I brought home a majestic (and might I add, slightly intimidating) fiddle leaf fig, my expectations were cautiously optimistic at best. Yet, this leafy green roommate, much to my surprise, decided to thrive. And in the process, it taught me some valuable (and hilarious) life lessons.

Leaf Fig

Anyone who tells you that patience is a virtue has clearly never experienced the agonizing wait for a fiddle leaf fig to sprout a new leaf. Seriously, it’s like watching paint dry, but with higher stakes. But here’s the thing: the fig taught me that good things take time. Just like you can’t rush a masterpiece, you can’t force a plant (or your dreams) to grow overnight.

I learned to appreciate the subtle signs of progress – a new growth point, a leaf unfurling ever so slowly. It was a masterclass in delayed gratification and a reminder that sometimes, the waiting is part of the beauty.

Lesson 2: Overwatering and the Art of Letting Go

Oh, the perils of overthinking! I’m a world-class champion in that department. And guess what? Plants hate it when you overthink things, especially when it comes to watering. I’d spend hours Googling “How much water does a fiddle leaf fig need?” only to drown the poor thing in my attempt to give it the perfect amount of hydration.

The fig, in its infinite wisdom, taught me the art of letting go. Instead of obsessing over every little detail, I learned to trust my instincts (and a moisture meter) and adopt a more relaxed approach. Turns out, sometimes the best thing you can do is step back and let things be.