Just Relaxed Blog

Category: Personal Essay

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant


    We’ve all been there. Scrolling through Instagram, you stumble upon a picture-perfect apartment boasting a jungle of thriving houseplants. Suddenly, your own humble abode feels severely lacking in the greenery department. That’s how I ended up, one impulsive shopping trip later, with a majestic (or so I thought) fern gracing my windowsill. Little did I know, this fern would teach me more than just how to keep a plant alive.

    Lesson #1: Patience is a Virtue (and so is Google)

    My first attempt at plant parenthood can only be described as “overenthusiastic.” I watered my fern religiously, convinced that more H2O equaled more happiness. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. In fact, my poor fern started to droop, its once-vibrant fronds turning a sickly shade of yellow. Panic set in. Was I a plant murderer already?

    Cue frantic Googling. Turns out, ferns are a bit dramatic. They like their soil moist but not soggy, and overwatering is a one-way ticket to Root Rot City (population: my dying fern). I learned, through trial and error (mostly error), the delicate dance of watering, drainage, and the importance of proper plant care research. Who knew there was so much to know about keeping a fern alive?

    fern, I eagerly awaited its triumphant return to its former glory. Days turned into weeks, and while it was no longer on the verge of collapse, it wasn’t exactly thriving either. It seemed stuck, frozen in a state of mediocre greenness.

    A quick internet search revealed another plant-parenting pro tip: sometimes, you need to prune away the dead weight to make way for new growth. Armed with a pair of kitchen scissors (don’t judge), I hesitantly snipped away the brown, crispy fronds. It felt brutal, like giving the plant a bad haircut. But guess what? New growth sprouted, healthier and more vibrant than before. It was a powerful reminder that sometimes, letting go of the past is essential for future flourishing.

    Lesson #3: Celebrate Small Victories (Like New Fronds)

    Here’s the funny thing about plants: they don’t care about your grand plans or your need for instant gratification. They grow at their own pace, in their own time. But when they do finally flourish, it’s pure magic. Witnessing a new frond unfurl, a tiny bud bloom, it fills you with a sense of quiet accomplishment. It’s a reminder to appreciate the small victories, the subtle signs of progress, in both the plant world and in life.

  • The Unintentional Collection: My Weirdest Thrift Store Finds

    The Unintentional Collection: My Weirdest Thrift Store Finds

    Let’s be honest, thrifting is like a treasure hunt where you never know what dusty gem (or questionable trinket) you might unearth. Most of us go in with a plan – a lampshade, maybe a new coffee table book about obscure Estonian poetry. But then, there are those finds. The ones that grab you by the eyeballs and scream, “Take me home! I’m weirdly fascinating and you need me in your life!” And thus begins the descent into… the unintentional collection.

    How a Porcelain Chicken Launched My Unintentional Collection

    My own journey into the heart of unintentional collecting began innocently enough. I was browsing the aisles of a local thrift store, minding my own business, when I saw it. A ceramic chicken. Not just any chicken, mind you, but one wearing a tiny chef’s hat and holding a plate of equally tiny plastic tacos.

    chicken behind. It was only a dollar, after all. And that, my friends, is how it always starts. One innocent purchase, a gateway drug into a world of oddities. Because let me tell you, that chicken opened a floodgate.

    The Curious Case of the Taxidermied Squirrel Tea Party

    Fast forward a few months, and my apartment began to resemble a fever dream curated by a raccoon with hoarding tendencies. I had amassed, quite by accident, a collection of taxidermied squirrels engaged in various human-like activities. There was Beatrice, the squirrel sipping tea from a delicate china cup. Harold, reading a miniature newspaper with a monocle perched precariously on his tiny face. And let’s not forget Agnes, knitting a teeny-tiny scarf with what I can only assume was equally tiny knitting needles.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me



    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    The Side Eye from a Ficus

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on your stomach. You glance up, and there it is: that look. You know the one— a mixture of disappointment and disdain— from your houseplant. Okay, maybe I’m projecting, but hear me out. My ficus, Ferdinand, has been throwing some serious shade my way lately, and I’m convinced it’s because he secretly judges my life choices.

    maybe that was just the wind.

    Exhibit B: The Curious Incident of the Takeout Containers

    I’ll admit, I have a weakness for takeout. Pad thai on Tuesday? Why not! Sushi on Friday? Obviously! But apparently, Ferdinand finds my culinary choices appalling. I can practically hear him tut-tutting as I unpack yet another styrofoam container, his leaves rustling in disapproval. “Honestly,” he seems to murmur, “a salad wouldn’t kill you.”

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    From Black Thumb to Budding Botanist: My Houseplant Journey

    Let’s be honest, my past attempts at keeping plants alive could be classified as “botanically challenged,” at best. I’m the queen of unintentional plant homicide. I once managed to kill a cactus. A CACTUS. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a sprightly little peace lily named Percy – I accepted with a smile and a silent prayer for the poor thing’s survival.

    Plant Care

    My first misconception was that Percy would thrive on benign neglect. Surely, a little water every now and then would suffice? Wrong. Percy quickly taught me the delicate dance of sunlight and hydration. Too much sun, and his leaves would crisp. Too little, and he’d droop like a disappointed parent.

    I learned to read his subtle cues: the gentle tilt towards the window, the slight browning at the leaf tips. This little plant, incapable of speech, taught me the art of observation and patience. Who knew that nurturing a living thing required, well, actual nurturing?

    Lesson #2: Silent Growth: The Power of Slow and Steady Progress

    For weeks, it seemed like Percy was stuck in a perpetual state of “just existing.” No new leaves, no dramatic growth spurts, just…being. I was convinced I’d failed him, destined to add another victim to my plant graveyard. Then, one morning, I noticed it – a tiny, tightly furled leaf, peeking out from the base.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    My Brown Thumb Turns Green (Sort Of)

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing nature. I’m the queen of killing cacti and forgetting to water even the most low-maintenance succulents. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a peace lily for my birthday, I accepted it with a smile that was equal parts polite and panicked. “Peace lily? More like ‘please don’t die lily,’” I thought to myself.

    But something strange happened. Maybe it was the guilt of potentially sending another plant to its early demise, or maybe it was the sheer audacity of this green thing daring to thrive in my presence. Whatever it was, I decided to give this whole plant parenting thing an honest go.

    Plant Care)

    Turns out, plants operate on their own sweet time. They don’t care about my deadlines, my social life, or my need for instant gratification. My peace lily, which I affectionately named Ferdinand, grew at a pace that can only be described as glacial. I’m talking millimeters per month, people.

    At first, I was frustrated. I wanted to see dramatic results, flourishing leaves, maybe even a flower or two (a girl can dream, right?). But as the weeks turned into months, I started to appreciate Ferdinand’s slow and steady progress. I learned that real growth takes time, both for plants and for people. We can’t rush the process, no matter how much we might want to.

    Lesson #2: Learning a Plant’s Needs is Like Understanding Yourself

    Here’s a newsflash: plants are actually pretty simple creatures. They need a few basic things to survive: sunlight, water, and nutrients. Who knew, right?

    I quickly discovered that Ferdinand was a bit of a drama queen when it came to his basic needs. Too much sun? Wilted leaves. Not enough water? Droopy disposition. I learned to pay attention to his subtle cues, deciphering his nonverbal language like some sort of plant whisperer (okay, maybe not quite).

    This newfound attentiveness translated to other areas of my life. I started paying closer attention to my own needs, recognizing the signs of burnout and making time for self-care. Who would have thought that a houseplant could teach me the importance of setting boundaries and prioritizing my well-being?

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me




    Is My Plant Judging Me? A Hilarious Take on Plant Parenthood


    We all have our quirks. Maybe you leave your socks on the floor (no judgment, sometimes laundry day feels a million miles away) or perhaps you’ve perfected the art of singing off-key in the shower. But have you ever felt like you were being judged…by your houseplant?

    The Side-Eye: My Plant‘s Silent Judgment Begins

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a Plant Parent™. I envisioned a lush jungle oasis, a symphony of green to brighten my home. I brought home a majestic (or so I thought) ZZ plant. I named him Zanzibar, because why not?

    plant light, convinced he just needed a bit more sunshine in his life.

    One particularly rough day, after a grueling workout (read: ten minutes of stretching and scrolling through Instagram), I collapsed onto the couch, panting dramatically. As I reached for my third cookie (don’t judge, you haven’t seen my workout routine), I swear I saw it: Zanzibar, in all his leafy glory, was giving me the side-eye.

    The Crooked Watering Can: Is My Plant Judging My Plant Care Skills?

    From that day forward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Zanzibar was judging my every move. Left the dishes in the sink a little too long? Zanzibar seemed to wilt in disapproval. Wore the same sweatpants three days in a row? His leaves practically curled in on themselves in horror.

    One morning, as I was watering him (with perfectly measured, room-temperature water, I might add!), the watering can slipped, sending a cascade of water onto the floor. As I scrambled for a towel, I could have sworn I heard a heavy sigh. Okay, maybe not a sigh exactly, but there was definitely some rustling of leaves that sounded suspiciously like judgment.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    My Brown Thumb Meets its Green Match: Introducing Percy the ZZ Plant

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my nurturing nature. In fact, my thumbs are practically the opposite of green. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a supposedly “easy to care for” ZZ plant – I accepted it with the grace of a gazelle accepting a ride from a lion. I knew the odds were stacked against us.

    And, predictably, our relationship got off to a rocky start. I overwatered it, then underwatered it, then forgot about it entirely for a solid two weeks. My poor ZZ plant, christened Percy (because why not give a plant a personality?), began to resemble something you’d find on the sad, discounted shelf at the garden center.

    Percy in the compost bin (don’t judge, we’ve all been there), I decided to give him one last shot. I researched proper ZZ plant care, repotted him with fresh soil, and found him a sunny spot by the window. And guess what? Percy, the resilient little guy, bounced back. He sprouted new growth, his leaves perked up, and he even seemed to develop a sort of… swagger?

  • The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2023 (and Why I Still Answer to ‘Brenda’)

    The Great Phone Number Mix-Up of 2023 (and Why I Still Answer to ‘Brenda’)



    Brenda, is this a good time?” And you think, “Brenda? Who’s Brenda? Is this one of those AI scams?”

    The Wrong Number That Started It All

    Well, friends, that’s how my adventure into the wacky world of wrong numbers began. It was a Tuesday, or maybe a Wednesday (who can really keep track?), and the culprit was a particularly persistent telemarketer trying to sell me life insurance. Except, they weren’t trying to sell it to me. They were trying to sell it to Brenda.

    Now, I’m usually a pretty patient person, but after the fifth “No, I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong number,” even I started to crack. I tried everything: explaining, politely declining, even resorting to a very convincing British accent (don’t ask). Nothing worked. They always came back, like telemarketing zombies, chanting “Brenda? Brenda?”

    The Case of the Misguided Pizza Delivery

    Things escalated quickly. Soon, it wasn’t just telemarketers. It was restaurant reservation confirmations, dentist appointment reminders, and even – I kid you not – a very confused pizza delivery guy holding a large pepperoni with extra anchovies (Brenda’s apparent order of choice).

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices



    We all have our quirks. Some of us talk to our pets (don’t judge!), others burst into song at the most inopportune times. Me? I swear my houseplant is judging me.

    The Side-Eye From a Spider Plant: A Plant Parent’s Journey

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a plant parent. I envisioned a lush oasis, a testament to my nurturing abilities. What I got was Horace the Spider Plant, a creature of apparent habit and, dare I say, opinions.

    Horace took to his new home quickly enough, sprouting new growth with gusto. But then, a shift. I was having a particularly rough week – deadlines looming, love life nonexistent, questionable pizza choices – and I noticed Horace seemed…droopy. Not just regular “I need water” droopy, but a full-on “I am deeply disappointed in the life choices you’ve made” droop.

    At first, I laughed it off. Plants can’t judge…right?

    The Curious Case of the Coincidental Wilt: A Pattern Emerges

    But then the coincidences (or were they?) began. A disastrous online date? Horace’s leaves practically curled in on themselves. A particularly triumphant work presentation? The plant practically did a victory dance, new growth unfurling like confetti.

    My friends, initially amused, now fuel the fire.

    • “Did you water Horace with your tears after that text from Dave?”
    • “Wow, Horace is THRIVING. You must have finally folded that laundry pile.”

    I mean, they’re not wrong. The evidence is compelling.

    My Houseplant Stages an Intervention: The Final Straw

    The peak (or should I say, the wilting point) came during a particularly epic procrastination session. I was supposed to be finishing an important project, but instead, I found myself four hours deep into a reality TV marathon, fueled by leftover birthday cake.

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)




    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer: The Unexpected Joys of Plant Parenthood (and Why You Should Totally Join the Club)


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent: My Story

    Let’s be honest, folks. For the longest time, my thumbs were about as green as a lump of coal. I’m talking succulent homicide, peace lily massacre – you name it, I’d accidentally offed it. So, naturally, the thought of becoming a “plant parent” filled me with a special kind of dread, usually reserved for trips to the dentist and doing my taxes.

    But then, something magical happened. My well-meaning but misguided friend gifted me a scraggly little peace lily for my birthday. Figuring it was already half-dead, I did the bare minimum: watered it occasionally, whispered apologies when I forgot, and basically hoped for the best.

    plant. That’s when it hit me: maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t destined for a life of horticultural homicide. Maybe, with a little effort (and a lot of Google searches), even I could experience the joys of plant parenthood.

    Why You Should Become a Plant Parent: Joy #1 – Plants are the Chillest Roommates

    Forget noisy neighbors, passive-aggressive roommates, or significant others who leave dirty socks on the floor. Plants are the ultimate low-maintenance companions. They don’t care if your apartment is a mess, they won’t judge your questionable taste in music, and they’ll never steal your leftovers.

    Seriously, all they ask for is a little sunlight, some water, and maybe a pep talk now and then (don’t judge, it works for me!). In return, they’ll purify your air, add a touch of life and color to your space, and make you feel like a domestic goddess/god who has their life together (even if you secretly don’t, like me!).

    Benefit #2 of Plant Parenthood: Watching Your Plant Babies Grow is Therapeutic

    Remember that feeling of accomplishment you got from completing a 1,000-piece puzzle? Or finally finishing that Netflix series you were binge-watching? Well, watching your plant babies sprout new leaves, unfurl delicate blooms, or even just stubbornly cling to life is surprisingly similar.

    It’s like a tiny reminder that even amidst the chaos of everyday life, growth and beauty are still possible. Plus, there’s something incredibly therapeutic about tending to your plants – it’s a chance to slow down, reconnect with nature, and forget about your worries for a while (unless, of course, you’re worried about overwatering, but that’s a story for another time).