My Jungle of Despair
I used to be a plant parent. Emphasis on used to. My journey began, as I suspect many do, with the best intentions. I envisioned a verdant paradise, a symphony of leaves and blooms transforming my humble abode into an urban jungle. I’d swan around in floaty linen, spritzing my leafy companions with a mister, a serene smile gracing my face.
The Great Plant-demic of 2023: A Turning Point
The final straw came during what I now refer to as “The Great Plant-demic of 2023.” It all started innocently enough. A new succulent arrived, a gift from a well-meaning friend. “It’s impossible to kill!” they chirped. Famous last words.
Within weeks, this so-called “unkillable” succulent had succumbed to some mysterious ailment. And it wasn’t alone. Like a leafy domino effect, my entire plant collection began to wither and die. One by one, they went to the great greenhouse in the sky, leaving me surrounded by empty pots and a profound sense of failure.
Embracing a Plant-Free Life: Liberation Through Defoliation
It was then, amidst the horticultural carnage, that I had an epiphany. Why was I doing this to myself? Why subject myself to this cycle of botanical disappointment? I wouldn’t force a pet goldfish on someone who’s allergic to scales, so why was I clinging so desperately to this dream of being a “plant person”?
And that’s when I decided to embrace my brown thumb. I said goodbye to guilt, to overwatering, to the constant fear of spider mites. I traded my watering can for a good book and my plant stand for a comfy armchair.