Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: Personal Essay

  • The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)

    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)




    The Time I Tried to Be a Morning Person (and Failed Spectacularly)


    We’ve all seen them – those infuriatingly chipper morning people who practically skip out of bed with the sunrise, a mug of something vaguely green in hand. They preach about productivity and the magic of early mornings, while I’m pretty sure I saw a unicorn frolicking in their Instagram story (taken during their 5 am jog, naturally).

    The Pact (and My Unshakable Confidence)

    It all started innocently enough. My friend, let’s call her Sunshine Sally, suggested we try a “30-Day Morning Routine Challenge.” Blinded by the promise of increased productivity and maybe even a glimpse of that elusive unicorn, I agreed. “How hard could it be?” I thought, completely underestimating the gravitational pull my bed has on me before noon.

    morning disposition. My attempts at a “healthy” breakfast usually involved shoving dry cereal into my mouth while running out the door.

    My morning workout, a key element of Sunshine Sally’s carefully crafted routine, was even more disastrous. Let’s just say the only thing I successfully lifted was my own self-doubt (and maybe a few stray couch cushions, thanks to my impressive clumsiness).

    The Great (and Hilarious) Morning Routine Fail

    The universe, sensing my struggle (and probably entertained by it), decided to up the ante. One morning, I woke up with the unshakeable conviction that I had finally cracked the code to morning-personhood. I even managed to make a smoothie without turning my kitchen into a disaster zone.

    Feeling invincible, I decided to treat myself to a leisurely walk in the park. That’s when I tripped over a squirrel (yes, you read that right), landed face-first in a mud puddle, and had to walk home looking like a swamp monster.

  • 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)




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


    Confessions of a Former Plant Killer

    Okay, I’ll admit it. I wasn’t always a natural nurturer. In fact, my track record with houseplants was downright abysmal. I’m talking shriveled leaves, droopy stems, and that unmistakable aroma of defeat. My thumbs were so far from green, they might as well have been painted charcoal gray.

    But then, something magical happened. I adopted a scraggly little succulent from a clearance shelf, fully expecting it to meet the same tragic fate as its predecessors. Much to my surprise, this little survivor thrived! It sprouted new growth, withstood my inconsistent watering schedule, and even seemed to perk up when I complimented its resilience.

    plant, but in the unique bond we were forming. Taking care of something that depended on me, even in a small way, was surprisingly fulfilling. It was the push I needed to dive headfirst into the world of plant parenthood, and let me tell you, it’s been a wild and rewarding ride.

    Plant Whispering 101: Learning to Speak Your Plants’ Language

    One of the unexpected joys of being a plant parent is discovering that each plant has its own distinct personality. Seriously! My peace lily, for example, is a total drama queen. She wilts dramatically if I’m even a day late with watering, only to bounce back to her former glory within hours. It’s like a passive-aggressive reminder that she’s the queen bee of this jungle, and I’m just living in it.

    Then there’s my ZZ plant, the stoic philosopher of the group. He’s practically indestructible, tolerating low light and infrequent watering with Zen-like patience. He’s living proof that sometimes, less is more.

    Learning the subtle cues of each plant, from their preferred lighting to their thirst signals, feels like cracking a secret code. It’s about observation, intuition, and yes, maybe a little trial and error (RIP, first fiddle-leaf fig). But the rewards, my friends, are immense.

    Life Lessons from the Plant Kingdom: More Than Just Greenery

    Beyond the quirky personalities and Instagram-worthy foliage, being a plant parent has taught me valuable life lessons. Here are a few nuggets of wisdom I’ve gleaned from my leafy companions:

    • Patience is a virtue (and a necessity). Plants grow on their own time, and there’s no rushing the process. It’s a gentle reminder to embrace the journey, not just the destination.
    • Small victories deserve to be celebrated. Whether it’s a new leaf unfurling or a stubborn stem finally branching out, every milestone is a testament to your care and attention.
    • Sometimes, you just need a fresh start. Don’t be afraid to prune away dead leaves or repot a plant that’s outgrown its space. It’s all part of the growth cycle, both for your plants and for you.
  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the People Who Break Them)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the People Who Break Them)

    elevator with someone who seems to have missed the memo on basic etiquette. Let’s unpack the unspoken rules of riding in a metal box with strangers and avoid those awkward (or fume-filled) encounters.

    My Personal Elevator Saga (Or Why I Wrote This Guide)

    The other day, I crammed myself into a crowded elevator. You know the drill—sardines in a can, trying to avoid eye contact or accidental breathing on anyone. Suddenly, a wave of heavy perfume smacked me in the face like a bouquet of lilies at a funeral. I desperately gasped for air, praying the elevator gods would grant me a swift descent to freedom.

    That’s when it hit me: people need a refresher course on elevator etiquette. So, dear readers, I present to you the unspoken rules of navigating these metal boxes of awkward encounters.

    Rule #1: Silence is Golden (Unless You’re the “Close Door” Button)

    We’ve all been there. The elevator doors close, plunging you into a silent abyss of strangers. Suddenly, someone decides to break the quiet with a booming phone call about their ingrown toenail. Please, I beg of you, don’t be that person.

    The unspoken rule: Elevators are sacred spaces of introverted bliss. Keep conversations brief, phone calls on mute, and personal hygiene revelations to yourself.

    Pro-tip: If you absolutely MUST answer a call, keep it short, sweet, and utterly devoid of personal details. “Hey, I’m in an elevator, can I call you back?” works wonders.

    Rule #2: The “Close Door” Button is Your Friend, Not a Weapon

    Picture this: you’re running late, desperately racing towards the elevator as the doors begin to close. Just when all hope seems lost, a kind soul inside hammers the “Open Door” button, granting you a reprieve from the stair-climbing gods.

    Now, imagine the opposite. You’re safely ensconced within the elevator when someone mashes the “Close Door” button the second you step in, nearly severing your arm in the process. Not cool, my friend, not cool.

    The unspoken rule: The “Close Door” button is not a weapon to be wielded against your fellow elevator passengers. Exercise patience and a smidge of human decency.

    Rule #3: Personal Space? In This Economy?

    Elevators are masters of spatial distortion. One minute you’re comfortably riding solo, the next you’re sandwiched between a guy humming off-key and a woman who brought her entire spice rack shopping haul along for the ride.

    The unspoken rule: Embrace the awkward. Maintain a respectful distance when possible, but be prepared to sacrifice your personal bubble in the name of vertical transportation.

    Pro-tip: Avoid eye contact at all costs. Trust me on this one.

    Share Your Elevator Adventures (We’ve All Been There)

    What are your biggest elevator pet peeves? Share your hilarious, cringeworthy, or downright bizarre elevator encounters in the comments below!

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant





    We’ve all been there. You’re wandering the aisles of your local home improvement store, desperately seeking the perfect shade of “greige” paint, when suddenly, you lock eyes. It’s not a charming salesperson offering unsolicited advice this time, but a vibrant, leafy friend silently pleading, “Take me home!” Okay, maybe I’m projecting a bit, but that’s how it went down when I met Ferdinand the Fern.

    Fern-tastic Expectations and Epic Plant Parent Fails

    I, like many others, am a sucker for the idea of being a “plant parent.” It sounds so mature, so responsible. Gone are the days of accidentally killing succulents (RIP, Steve the Succulent). This time, I was determined to succeed. I envisioned a lush, green oasis thriving in my living room, a testament to my newfound nurturing abilities.

    life on the edge. One minute he’d be drooping dramatically, the next he’d be as perky as a cheerleader on game day. I was constantly second-guessing myself. Was he thirsty? Too much sun? Not enough sun? Did I accidentally compliment his foliage in the wrong tone of voice? (Yes, I may have reached peak plant lady paranoia.)

    From Brown Thumb to Budding Botanist: Finding Growth Through Setbacks

    Just as I was about to throw in the trowel (figuratively, of course, I’m not a monster), something amazing happened. Ferdinand sprouted a new leaf! It was small, delicate, and undeniably green. I was ecstatic! All those weeks of fretting, misting, and rotating him like a disco ball had paid off.

    That’s when it hit me: Life, much like taking care of a houseplant, is all about trial and error. Sometimes you’ll overwater, sometimes you’ll forget to fertilize, and sometimes, despite your best efforts, things will wilt. But then, just when you’re about to give up hope, a tiny sprout of progress emerges, reminding you that even in the midst of setbacks, growth is always possible.

    Learning Patience and Perseverance: The Root of the Matter

    Ferdinand may not be the most low-maintenance roommate (seriously, that fern can be dramatic), but he’s taught me more about patience, perseverance, and the beauty of small victories than I ever anticipated. He’s also a constant reminder that even when life throws shade (pun intended), there’s always a reason to keep growing.

  • 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. You’re gifted a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and you vow to keep them alive for longer than a week (the struggle is real, people). But then, amongst the lilies and carnations, you spot it… the dreaded “bonus plant.” You know, the one they sneak in there, disguised as a harmless addition, but it’s secretly judging your every horticultural move?

    Operation: Don’t Kill the Plant

    That’s how I ended up with Herbert. Yes, I named him. I figured if I gave him a personality, I’d be more inclined to keep him alive. Herbert, a sprightly little peace lily, was thrust upon me by a well-meaning friend at a going-away party. “He’s low-maintenance!” she’d chirped, shoving a plastic pot into my hands as I juggled a plate of nachos and a farewell margarita.

    Now, I’m not known for my green thumb. In fact, my thumbs are more of a “concrete gray” when it comes to plants. But Herbert, bless his leafy heart, was determined to teach me a thing or two about life (and maybe even about keeping things alive).

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Are My Plants Judging Me? The Hilarious Reality of Plant Parent Paranoia


    The Side-Eye From a (Very) Dramatic Spider Plant

    It all started with a dramatic wilting. I’m talking theatrical, head-in-hands, Shakespearean levels of plant despair. My usually chipper spider plant, which I’d affectionately named Gerald, looked like I’d just canceled our beach vacation.

    “Okay, drama queen,” I muttered, grabbing my watering can. “Don’t tell me you need water again?”

    As I watered Gerald, I swear I felt his…disapproval. Like he was thinking, “Took you long enough, peasant.” From then on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Gerald was judging my every move.

    plant equivalent of someone binge-watching reality TV in their pajamas.

    Then, my mother-in-law came to visit.

    Now, my mother-in-law is lovely. She really is. But let’s just say we have…differing opinions on houseplant care. She believes in a “more is more” approach to watering, while I’m a cautious optimist who’d rather underwater than overwater (sorry, Gerald!).

    So, imagine my surprise when Beatrice suddenly sprouted a new leaf during my mother-in-law’s visit. And not just any leaf – this thing was practically the size of Texas! It was almost as if Beatrice was showing off, whispering, “See? This is what happens when I’m properly cared for!”

    Coincidence? I think not.

    The Silent Treatment and Other Passive-Aggressive Plant Behaviors

    Since then, I’ve noticed a pattern of passive-aggressive behavior from my houseplants. A few highlights:

    • My cactus, Steve, who’s usually quite prickly (pun intended), suddenly bloomed the day after I finished cleaning the entire apartment.
    • My succulent collection, which I swear rearranges itself when I’m not looking, seems to thrive when I’m feeling stressed. It’s like they’re mocking my inability to relax.
    • And don’t even get me started on the silent treatment. One wrong move – say, forgetting to mist my ferns – and it’s radio silence from the entire plant gang.
  • The Day My Inner Voice Decided to Go Full British

    The Day My Inner Voice Decided to Go Full British




    The Day My Inner Voice Decided to Go Full British

    The Queen’s English Takes Over My Thoughts

    You know that little voice in your head? The one that narrates your life, offers unsolicited advice, and occasionally berates you for that last slice of pizza? Mine has always been a bit of a character. A touch sarcastic, prone to dramatics, but generally relatable. Until one Tuesday morning, when I woke up and it was speaking with a posh British accent.

    I was reaching for my trusty, old alarm clock (the digital one kept short-circuiting my dreams) when I heard it. Clear as day, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Benedict Cumberbatch after a strong cuppa announced, “Right then, time to rise and shine, you wouldn’t want to be late for the day, would you?”

    I froze. Had I accidentally downloaded a British language pack in my sleep? Was this some bizarre side effect of binge-watching “The Crown”? I cautiously responded, “Excuse me, who said that?”

    “Why, darling, it’s me! Your inner monologue, just with a spot of an upgrade,” the voice chirped back.

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

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




    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, when you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. You know, the one you swore you’d nurture, the one that was supposed to bring tranquility and life into your home? Yeah, that one. And in that moment, you swear it’s judging you.

    The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    It all started subtly. I’d be rushing out the door, late for work (again), and I’d catch a glimpse of my peace lily, Herbert, out of the corner of my eye. His leaves seemed to droop a little lower than usual, as if to say, “Another day, another missed watering, huh?”

    Herbert‘s pot had somehow swiveled on the windowsill. He was now facing me directly, and I swear, if plants could frown, he would have been giving me the mother of all disapproving looks.

    Silent Disapproval: The Case of the Crumbling Cookie

    The judgment only intensified from there. I’d find myself straightening up the apartment, suddenly self-conscious about the pile of laundry I’d been ignoring. “What would Herbert think?” my brain would whisper. “He thrives in an environment of order and good decisions!”

    Then there was the cookie incident. I may have, perhaps, indulged in a late-night snack and forgotten to sweep up a few errant crumbs. The next morning, I found a single, defiant leaf pointing directly at the mess. It was like a green, leafy finger wagging at my lack of discipline.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    My Thumb is More of a Gardening Black Hole

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my apartment balcony is a graveyard of well-intentioned succulents and tragically misunderstood herbs. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a resilient little ZZ plant, known for its ability to survive even the most neglectful owners – I accepted with a mix of hope and trepidation. Little did I know, this unassuming plant would soon teach me more about life than I ever expected.

    plant parenting duties with the same gusto. I researched the perfect watering schedule, debated the merits of different fertilizers, and even considered playing Mozart to encourage growth (don’t judge!). However, my plant remained stubbornly unimpressed. It wasn’t until I, in a fit of forgetfulness, neglected it for a good two weeks that it finally started to thrive.

    Turns out, like humans, plants need space to breathe and grow at their own pace. The constant fussing and overwatering had actually been suffocating it. Who knew? My little green roommate taught me the valuable lesson of letting go, trusting the process, and embracing the beauty of simplicity.

    Lesson 2: Resilience is a Superpower

    One fateful (and very clumsy) day, I managed to knock my poor plant off its pedestal, sending a cascade of dirt and broken leaves across the living room floor. Mortified, I frantically tried to salvage the situation, but the damage seemed irreparable. I resigned myself to the fact that I had finally achieved the impossible – killing the unkillable plant.

    But, to my astonishment, after a few weeks of gentle care and a lot of apologies, my resilient little ZZ plant started to bounce back. New shoots emerged, stronger and more vibrant than before. It was a powerful reminder that even after setbacks and near-death experiences (well, near-plant-death experiences), we have the incredible capacity to heal, regrow, and come back stronger than ever.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    The Unspoken Rules of Elevator Etiquette (and the One Time I Broke Them All)

    We’ve all been there. Packed in a metal box, hurtling upwards at an alarming speed, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with strangers. Yes, my friends, I’m talking about the wondrous social experiment that is the elevator.

    The Day the Elevator Music Died (and It Was My Fault)

    Now, I consider myself a fairly well-adjusted member of society. I hold doors open for people, I say please and thank you, and I even recycle (most of the time). But there’s something about elevators that turns me into a bumbling mess of social awkwardness.

    Take, for example, the time I single-handedly managed to break every unspoken rule of elevator etiquette. It all started innocently enough. I stepped into the elevator, joining a businessman furiously typing on his phone and a woman with a shopping bag that looked suspiciously like it contained a small dog (or maybe just a very fluffy loaf of bread, I wasn’t about to stare).

    I gave a polite nod – the universal elevator greeting – and turned to face the doors, just like the rulebook says. But then it happened. My stomach, in all its infinite wisdom, chose that precise moment to unleash a growl so loud and ferocious, it could have rivaled a bear waking up from hibernation.

    The Sound of Silence (and Intense Secondhand Embarrassment)

    The typing stopped. The shopping bag twitched. I swear I even heard the elevator music stutter for a second. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of my stomach continuing its symphony of digestion.

    I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Instead, I did what any reasonable person in my position would do: I pretended it wasn’t me. I subtly shifted my weight, hoping to transfer the blame to the man with the phone. He, of course, was far too engrossed in his emails to notice my plight. The woman with the bag, however, was now giving me the side-eye, her face a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

    Escaping the Iron (and Judgmental) Box

    The next few floors couldn’t pass quickly enough. Each ding of the bell was like a tiny hammer tapping on my coffin of shame. Finally, mercifully, we reached my floor. I practically leaped out of the elevator, muttering a hasty “Have a nice day!” over my shoulder.

    As the doors closed behind me, I could have sworn I heard stifled laughter. I slunk down the hallway, vowing to never make eye contact with anyone in an elevator ever again.

    What Other Elevator Etiquette Rules Are There?

    My disastrous elevator experience taught me a valuable lesson: some unspoken rules are best left unbroken. But it also got me thinking, what are some other universally acknowledged (yet rarely spoken) rules of elevator etiquette? And have you ever had an experience where you accidentally (or spectacularly) broke them? Share your stories in the comments below – I promise mine can’t be topped!