From Black Thumb to… Well, Slightly Less Black
Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my plant parenting journey began with a string of casualties so long, I’m pretty sure I could qualify for a discount at the plant cemetery (if such a thing existed). My apartment looked less like an urban jungle and more like a crime scene of wilted leaves and drooping stems.
Learning to Let Go (and Buy More Plants)
One of the most liberating things about being a serial plant killer is learning to embrace the inevitable. At some point, I realized that not every plant was destined for greatness (or even mediumness) in my care. I stopped taking it personally when a leaf turned brown or a stem went limp. Instead, I started seeing it as an opportunity. An opportunity to say “thank you for your service” to the departed, and to welcome a new, bright-eyed (and hopefully longer-lived) leafy friend into my home. It’s a cycle of life, death, and the occasional impulse purchase at the garden center.
Finding Humor in Horticultural Homicides
There’s a certain dark humor that comes with being a plant killer extraordinaire. I’ve learned to laugh at my own expense, documenting my plant parenting fails on social media with captions like “Rest in pieces, Philodendron Phil” and “He was too young, too green, too… thirsty?” (Turns out, forgetting to water your plants for three weeks is generally frowned upon in the plant community). But hey, at least my failures bring a little laughter to the world, right?