Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (And Why You Should Become a Plant Parent)
From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent
Okay, I’ll admit it. I used to be the grim reaper of houseplants. I’m talking shriveled leaves, droopy stems, the whole tragic shebang. If a plant had the misfortune of entering my apartment, its life expectancy plummeted faster than my patience during a furniture assembly project.
But then something magical happened. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a surge of newfound adulthood, or maybe (just maybe) it was the adorable little succulent staring up at me from the grocery store checkout line. Whatever it was, I took the plunge, adopted the little guy (his name is Steve, by the way), and thus began my unexpected journey into the wonderful world of plant parenthood.
1. They’re the Chillest Roommates Ever (Seriously)
- No complaints about the thermostat (although they do appreciate a sunny window).
- They haven’t eaten my food (yet…).
- Rent is paid in the form of occasional watering and the odd compliment (“Wow, Steve, you’re looking extra vibrant today!”).
Plus, unlike my previous goldfish, they haven’t tried to pull a disappearing act (RIP, Bubbles).
2. They Turn You into a Zen Master (Or At Least a More Patient Person)
Plants, my friends, are the masters of mindfulness. They force you to slow down, observe, and appreciate the little things. Like a new leaf unfurling or a delicate flower bud about to burst open. It’s like meditation, but with less chanting and more watering cans.
Case in point: Remember my furniture assembly frustration? Yeah, that doesn’t happen anymore. Now, when faced with a particularly challenging instruction manual, I simply channel my inner plant whisperer and tell myself, “Patience, young Padawan. Just like this fern needs time to grow, so too does this bookshelf need time to…well, become a bookshelf.”