Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: Personal Essay

  • The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    The Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a natural nurturer. In fact, my thumbs were about as black as my morning coffee. I’d lovingly water a cactus, only to find it shrivelled and defeated a week later. “Plants just aren’t for me,” I’d sigh, tossing another empty pot into the recycling bin.

    But then, something changed. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a sudden urge to nurture something other than my caffeine addiction, but I decided to give plants another go. And let me tell you, folks, I haven’t looked back since.

    Plant Parenthood

    Becoming a plant parent came with a whole host of unexpected joys. It’s not just about watching a little green friend grow (though that is pretty darn satisfying). Here are just a few reasons why I’ve become a full-fledged member of the plant-obsessed club:

    1. Stress Relief and Mindfulness Through Plant Care

    Remember those adult coloring books everyone was raving about? Turns out, caring for plants is like that, but with the added bonus of actual living things thriving under your care (no pressure!). There’s something incredibly therapeutic about digging in the soil, pruning leaves, and just generally being present with my leafy companions. It’s like meditation, but with more chlorophyll.

    2. Fresh Food and Endless Bragging Rights

    My basil plant is basically my best friend and personal chef all rolled into one. Forget expensive supermarket herbs that wilt faster than my enthusiasm for doing the dishes – I’ve got fresh basil on tap! And let’s not forget the bragging rights that come with serving up a homegrown salad.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from Playing Tetris

    Confessions of a Tetris Enthusiast

    Okay, maybe “addict” is a strong word. But I’ll admit, there was a time when Tetris held a certain magnetic pull over me. Those brightly colored blocks, the deceptively simple premise, the promise of achieving a perfect “Tetris” – it was pure digital dopamine! Little did I know, while I was busy stacking and clearing lines, I was also unwittingly absorbing some valuable life lessons. Who knew a game about falling blocks could be so profound?

    Tetris Teaches Us to Conquer Procrastination

    We’ve all been there. That looming deadline, the mounting to-do list, and what do we do? We open Tetris “just for a few minutes.” But those minutes have a funny way of multiplying, and before you know it, you’re staring down a digital mountain of blocks that represents your real-life responsibilities. Just like in Tetris, procrastination in life only leads to a much bigger (and scarier) problem down the line. So, take it from someone who’s lost one too many games (and maybe missed a deadline or two) – tackle those tasks head-on before they pile up and overwhelm you!

    Lesson 2: Problem-Solving, Tetris Style: Breaking It Down

    Ever feel overwhelmed by a massive, complex problem? Tetris taught me that the best way to tackle these behemoths is to break them down into smaller, more manageable pieces. Just like fitting those oddly-shaped tetrominoes together, focus on finding solutions to individual aspects of the problem. Before you know it, all those small victories will add up to conquering the bigger challenge. It’s like they say, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

  • 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

    From Green Thumb to Paranoid Plant Parent

    Remember that blissful feeling of bringing home a new plant, its leaves plump with promise, its pot practically radiating positivity? Yeah, mine was short-lived. It all started innocently enough. I’d lovingly chosen Herbert (yes, I name my plants, don’t judge!) a majestic ZZ plant, from the local nursery. Low maintenance, they said. Thrives on neglect, they said.

    plant happiness?

    The Side-Eye That Launched a Thousand Waterings

    And that’s when it happened. As I was frantically Googling “droopy ZZ plant remedies,” our eyes met. And I swear, Herbert, with a barely perceptible tilt of his pot (or maybe it was just the uneven floorboards, my brain supplied helpfully), gave me the most judgmental side-eye I’d ever received. From a plant, no less.

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

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




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


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I used to be a plant killer. I mean, I tried. I really did. But every innocent peace lily or hopeful succulent that crossed my threshold seemed destined for the great compost heap in the sky. I resigned myself to the fact that I was just not one of those people blessed with a “green thumb.” Little did I know, I was about to have a change of heart—and a home filled with greenery.

    plant parenthood journey began, as many things do, with a stressful period in my life. Work was hectic, sleep was scarce, and I desperately needed an outlet. That’s when a friend (who, ironically, had a jungle growing in her apartment) suggested I try my hand at a low-maintenance snake plant. I figured, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I could kill something that already looked half dead, right?

    To my surprise, the snake plant thrived. Not only that, but the simple act of watering it, wiping down its leaves, and watching it grow brought me a sense of calm I hadn’t realized I was missing. It was a tiny oasis of life in the midst of my chaotic schedule, a responsibility that felt more like a reward.

    Benefits of Plant Parenthood: More Than Just Aesthetics

    As my confidence grew, so did my plant family. Soon, my apartment was home to a cheerful ZZ plant, a dramatic prayer plant, and even a notoriously finicky (but oh-so-beautiful) fiddle leaf fig. And while I still maintain that their stress-relieving properties are a major perk, I discovered a whole host of other unexpected joys of plant parenthood:

    • Instant Home Decor Upgrade: Let’s face it, plants are basically living, breathing works of art. They add a touch of life and color to any space, instantly making it feel more homey and inviting.
    • Conversation Starters: Forget awkward small talk. Having plants is like having a built-in conversation starter. People are naturally curious about them, and it’s a great way to connect with others over a shared love of greenery.
    • A Sense of Accomplishment: Okay, maybe this one sounds a little silly, but there’s a genuine sense of pride that comes with keeping a plant alive. Watching it grow and flourish feels like a tiny victory every day.
  • The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Checkout Lines

    The Unspoken Rules of Grocery Store Checkout Lines

    The Case of the Rogue Watermelon

    We’ve all been there. Standing in the grocery store checkout line, patiently (or impatiently) waiting our turn. Maybe you’re mentally calculating how many more items until it’s your turn. Maybe you’re engaging in some top-notch people-watching. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re the unfortunate soul stuck behind me and my rogue watermelon.

    You see, I pride myself on being a fairly competent adult. I can parallel park like a boss and make a mean bowl of ramen. But grocery shopping? That’s where my inner child runs wild. I get distracted by shiny packaging, forget to grab the one thing I actually need, and inevitably end up with a wonky assortment of items tumbling haphazardly onto the conveyor belt.

    This particular day, the culprit was a particularly large watermelon. I’m talking “baby hippopotamus” large. Naturally, I’d placed it on the belt last, only to watch in horror as it proceeded to roll, menacingly, towards the unsuspecting cashier.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me






    The Side-Eye Struggle is Real

    I swear, it started with a side-eye. You know, that subtle tilt of the leaves that seems to say, “Really? You’re watering me with that?” My previously perky peace lily, now christened Professor Percival P. Plant (don’t ask), has taken to observing my every move with the judgmental air of a disappointed schoolmarm. And honestly, I’m starting to think it’s all my fault.

    Plant Parent’s Confession

    It all began with a moment of weakness. Okay, maybe it was more like a Tuesday. I was having a particularly rough morning – hair resembling a bird’s nest, mismatched slippers, the whole shebang. As I scarfed down a slightly stale croissant (don’t judge!), a few errant crumbs tumbled onto Percival‘s pristine pot. Did I pick them up? Reader, I did not. I told myself I’d get it later.

    Big mistake. Later that day, I could have sworn Percival‘s leaves drooped even lower. The once vibrant green seemed dull, almost accusatory. Was it my imagination, or did I detect a faint whiff of judgment mixed with stale pastry? I quickly cleaned up the crumbs, muttering apologies, but the damage was done. Percival and I haven’t been the same since.

    The Great Fertilizer Fiasco: My Houseplant Almost Didn’t Survive

    If the croissant incident was the spark, the fertilizer fiasco was the full-blown inferno of judgment. Convinced I could win back Percival’s favor, I decided to treat it to some high-end plant food. I’m talking organic, sustainably sourced, infused-with-the-tears-of-a-thousand-angels kind of fertilizer.

    I followed the instructions to the letter – or so I thought. Turns out, I might have confused teaspoons with tablespoons. In my defense, the numbers on the measuring spoons were practically microscopic! Anyway, one whiff of the potent concoction and I knew I’d messed up. Percival, bless its leafy heart, didn’t stand a chance.

    The following days were a blur of frantic googling (“can you over-fertilize a peace lily?”), emergency repotting, and whispered apologies. Percival eventually recovered (thank goodness!), but I’m pretty sure it now flinches whenever I pick up the watering can.

  • 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 Green Thumb? More Like a Green…Thumb-kin

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have never been known for their magical, life-giving properties. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could kill a cactus with a single, loving touch. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a cheerful little peace lily with more leaves than I knew what to do with – I accepted it with a smile and a healthy dose of internal panic.

    little green roommate had some surprisingly profound lessons to teach me.

    Lesson #1: Patience is a Virtue (and Also, a Necessary Ingredient for Plant Parenting)

    One of the first things I learned about my peace lily was that it did not, in fact, thrive on neglect. Who knew, right? My previous strategy of “water it when I remember, which is probably never” was not exactly a recipe for success. The leaves started to droop, then brown, then fall off with a dramatic flourish that could rival a Shakespearean tragedy.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant





    Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From My Houseplant



    We’ve all been there. Scrolling through Instagram, you stumble upon those aesthetically pleasing photos of people’s homes, bathed in natural light and adorned with lush, vibrant houseplants. And in a moment of weakness, fueled by envy and a sprinkle of “I can do that,” you, too, become a plant parent.

    Well, that’s how my journey into the world of houseplants began, anyway. Little did I know, this leafy green roommate would teach me more than just how to keep something alive. This, my friends, is the story of the unexpected life lessons I learned from a houseplant.

    From Brown Thumb to Budding Plant Enthusiast

    My track record with plants was, to put it kindly, abysmal. I once managed to kill a cactus. A CACTUS. So, when I brought home a perfectly healthy Monstera Deliciosa (because of course, I went for the trendy one), my expectations were cautiously optimistic at best.

    plant parenthood 101. I googled everything: “How much water does a Monstera need?” “Why are the leaves turning yellow?” “Can I sing my plant to sleep?” (Okay, maybe not that last one…). To my surprise, my Monstera thrived. New leaves unfurled, revealing those iconic splits, and I actually started to understand the difference between well-draining soil and, well, dirt.

    Learning Patience From a Monstera Deliciosa

    But just as I was about to bestow upon myself the highly coveted “Green Thumb Award,” my Monstera decided to throw me a curveball. Its growth slowed, some leaves started to droop, and I swear I heard it sigh dramatically one day.

    Panic ensued. Was I overwatering? Underwatering? Had I inadvertently introduced it to some sort of plant-eating parasite during my recent trip to the garden center? My inner monologue was a symphony of self-doubt and accusations. After all, I reasoned, shouldn’t my plant be growing at the speed of Instagram fame?

    But then, a wise friend (who also happened to be a plant whisperer) reminded me that growth takes time. Sometimes, things need a period of rest and rejuvenation before they can flourish again. It was a simple concept, yet it resonated deeply. We, too, are like plants in a way, needing periods of stillness and reflection to recharge and blossom.

    Finding Joy in the Small Victories of Plant Parenthood

    As the weeks turned into months, I learned to appreciate the subtle signs of growth in my Monstera. A new leaf unfurling, a stem reaching towards the sunlight – these seemingly small victories became a source of immense joy and a reminder to celebrate the little things in life.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Waiting in Line (And Why I Always Seem to Break Them)

    The Unspoken Rules of Waiting in Line (And Why I Always Seem to Break Them)




    The Case of the Misplaced Coffee Order

    We’ve all been there. Standing in line, patiently (or not so patiently) waiting our turn. But have you ever noticed that there seems to be an unspoken code of conduct, a secret society of line-standers that you never received the memo for? Yeah, me too. And apparently, I missed the meeting where they handed out the rule book.

    Take last Tuesday, for example. I was at my usual coffee shop, buzzing with pre-caffeine withdrawal, when I committed a cardinal sin. I’d reached the counter, heart pounding with anticipation of that first glorious sip of coffee, only to realize—I had absolutely no idea what my friend wanted.

    line behind me grew longer (and presumably, more irritated), and all I could manage was a weak, “Uh… let me just check with my friend real quick?”

    The collective sigh from everyone within a five-foot radius was almost audible. I had broken the unspoken rule: Thou shalt not approach the counter unprepared.

    The Awkward Etiquette of Personal Space in Line

    Then there’s the delicate matter of personal space. We all crave it, especially when confined within the often-too-close-for-comfort boundaries of a line. But what constitutes “too close”?

    Again, I’m guilty as charged. I have this terrible habit of unconsciously inching forward, like a moth drawn to a flickering light, except in this case, the light is the person in front of me. I don’t mean to be invasive; it just kind of happens. But I’m sure it doesn’t make for the most comfortable experience for the unwitting recipients of my creeping.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Broken Toaster

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Broken Toaster




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Broken Toaster


    We all have them—those seemingly insignificant objects in our lives that hold a surprising amount of sentimental value. Maybe it’s a worn-out teddy bear, a chipped mug from your travels, or in my case, a gloriously dysfunctional toaster.

    A Toast to Disaster

    It all started with the smell of smoke and the distinct sound of the fire alarm blaring through my apartment. Turns out, my attempt to revive a slightly stale bagel in the toaster had gone terribly wrong. Picture this:

    toaster. It had been with me through thick and thin, or rather, through burnt toast and perfectly golden-brown bagels. This wasn’t just a kitchen appliance; it was a breakfast companion, a silent witness to my morning coffee rituals.

    Lesson #1: Embracing Imperfection (and Maybe Investing in a Fire Extinguisher)

    The demise of my toaster got me thinking. Just like that hunk of metal, we all have our flaws, our quirks, our moments of utter malfunction. But those imperfections are what make us unique. They tell a story, add character, and remind us that life is a messy, unpredictable adventure.

    Besides, who needs a perfectly functioning toaster anyway? Okay, maybe everyone. But the point is, it’s okay to embrace the chaos, the burnt bagels, the occasional kitchen mishap. It’s all part of the experience, right?

    Lesson #2: Resilience Is Best Served Warm and Crunchy

    After the great bagel fire of 2023 (yes, it was that dramatic), I considered my options. I could mourn the loss of my beloved toaster and resign myself to a life of cold, untoasted bread. Or, I could dust myself off, learn from the experience, and invest in a new (and hopefully less flammable) breakfast companion.

    As you can probably guess, I chose the latter. I marched myself to the nearest appliance store, determined to find a toaster that could handle my love for all things bread-related. After much deliberation and a slightly obsessive analysis of wattage and browning settings, I found the one.