Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: simple living

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Cactus

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Cactus




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Cactus


    My Prickly Professor

    Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my houseplant track record is better described as a graveyard of good intentions. But then came Cedric.

    Cedric, you see, is a cactus. A spiky, stubborn, surprisingly charismatic cactus that my well-meaning friend gifted me for my birthday. “He’s low-maintenance,” she promised, knowing my history. And she was right. Little did I know, Cedric would become much more than just a low-maintenance houseplant. He’d become my unlikely life coach.

    Cedric, however, operates on a different level of drama. He doesn’t wilt. He endures.

    He’s been through accidental droughts (oops!), less-than-ideal lighting, and even a near-death experience when a rogue frisbee took a detour through my living room. Yet, there he stands – or rather, sits – unfazed. Cedric taught me that resilience isn’t always graceful. Sometimes, it’s about digging your roots in deep, weathering the storm, and coming out the other side a little rough around the edges but undeniably stronger.

    Lesson #2: Embrace Your Individuality and Thrive in Your Own Way

    Confession time: I used to compare Cedric to my friend’s flourishing ferns and vibrant orchids. “Why can’t you be more like them?” I’d think, completely missing the point. Cedric wasn’t meant to be a fern or an orchid. He was a cactus, perfectly content in his own spiky skin.

    And that, my friends, was a lightbulb moment. We spend so much time comparing ourselves to others, striving for a version of success that might not even suit us. Cedric reminded me that true growth comes from embracing our individuality, nurturing our strengths, and thriving in our own unique ways. He might not produce fragrant blooms, but he offers a different kind of beauty – one of resilience, adaptability, and quiet strength.

  • The Joy of Missing Out (And Why You Might Love It Too)

    The Joy of Missing Out (And Why You Might Love It Too)

    missing-out –>The Joy of Missing Out (And Why You Might Love It Too)

    From FOMO to “Namaste in My Pajamas“

    Remember that time everyone went to that thing and posted about it endlessly on social media? Yeah, I stayed home. In my pajamas. With a cup of tea and a good book. And you know what? It was glorious.

    For years, I was the queen of FOMO. Fear of Missing Out ruled my life. If everyone was doing it, I had to be there. Concert on a Tuesday? Present! Three-hour brunch with questionable eggs benedict? Count me in! This led to a lot of late nights, questionable life choices, and a constant feeling of being utterly exhausted.

    time was my own, and I could choose to spend it however I pleased.

    Embracing My Inner Homebody (Without Apology)

    Since then, I’ve been on a mission to embrace JOMO, and let me tell you, it’s been life-changing. Here are a few unexpected benefits I’ve experienced:

    • Decreased anxiety and stress: No more frantic rushing, last-minute outfit changes, or social exhaustion. JOMO means saying “yes” to peace and quiet.
    • Increased productivity and creativity: Remember all that time I wasted feeling jealous of other people’s curated lives? I now channel that energy into pursuing my own passions and hobbies.
    • Deeper connections with loved ones: Instead of shallow interactions at crowded events, I now prioritize quality time with people I genuinely care about.
  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant






    My Brown Thumb Gets a Green Roommate

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have always leaned more towards “brown” than “green.” I’m the person who can kill a cactus with kindness (or, more accurately, forgetfulness). So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a fern for my birthday, I accepted with a grimace disguised as gratitude. Little did I know, this leafy green roommate would teach me more than just how to keep something alive.

    Plant Parenthood

    My first attempt at plant parenthood was a masterclass in overcompensation. I watered that poor fern like I was trying to drown it, convinced that more was always better. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. The leaves drooped, turned yellow, and I’m pretty sure the fern sighed dramatically every time I walked by.

    Eventually, after a frantic Google search and a pep talk from the aforementioned well-meaning friend (who also happens to be a plant whisperer), I learned the art of patience. I discovered the delicate balance of sunlight, water, and just letting the darn thing be. And you know what? The fern perked up. It even sprouted new fronds, which I considered a standing ovation for finally figuring things out.

    Lesson #2: Embracing the Messy Nature of Growth

    Just when I thought I’d mastered the whole plant parenting thing, my fern decided to throw me a curveball. It sprouted new growth in the most awkward, gangly directions. Some fronds grew long and leggy, others seemed determined to touch the ceiling. It was like watching a teenager go through a growth spurt, all awkward limbs and questionable life choices (except, you know, with leaves).

    At first, I tried to control the chaos. I trimmed and pruned, trying to force my fern into some idealized version of itself. But eventually, I realized that growth, whether it’s a plant or a person, is rarely linear. It’s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes a little weird. And the best thing I could do was provide support and let it figure things out, even if it meant embracing a little bit of botanical anarchy.

  • The Time I Tried to Be a Minimalist and Failed Miserably

    The Time I Tried to Be a Minimalist and Failed Miserably




    The Time I Tried to Be a Minimalist and Failed Miserably


    My Closet of Broken Dreams (and Way Too Many Shoes)

    We’ve all seen those aspirational photos, haven’t we? The ones with the pristine white walls, a single plant, and a wardrobe consisting of precisely seven items (all in neutral tones, of course). I, my friends, am not one of those people. My ideal aesthetic is less “serene sanctuary” and more “eclectic vintage shop exploded.” But, like any good millennial with an internet connection, I decided to give minimalism a try.

    minimalist havens I’d seen online. And then reality set in.

    Turns out, I actually use most of my stuff. That “random assortment of buttons” I almost tossed? Yeah, those came in handy when a favorite cardigan lost a button. And those paint-splattered sweatpants? They’re perfect for my new artistic hobby (which, ironically, involves creating maximalist collages).

    Minimalism: Is It Really All It’s Cracked Up To Be?

    My minimalist experiment crashed and burned faster than you can say “spark joy.” I realized that while I admire the discipline and intentionality of minimalism, it’s just not for me. I like my quirky collections, my colorful wardrobe, and yes, even my random assortment of buttons.

    Here’s what I did learn though:

    • Decluttering feels amazing – even if you don’t go full minimalist.
    • It’s okay to keep things that bring you joy, even if they’re not “practical.”
    • There’s a big difference between minimalism as an aesthetic and minimalism as a lifestyle. You can appreciate the former without subscribing to the latter.
  • 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.

  • The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)

    The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)




    The Unbreakable Bond: Why I’m Still Rocking a Flip Phone (and Maybe You Should Too)

    My Pocket-Sized Time Machine

    Remember the satisfying snap of closing a flip phone after a call? The feeling of invincibility when you dropped it and knew it would survive unscathed? Yeah, me too. While everyone else is busy navigating the treacherous waters of cracked screens and dwindling battery life, I’m happily sailing along with my trusty flip phone.

    It all started a few years ago. My smartphone, in a fit of technological angst, decided to take a swan dive into a puddle. As I fished it out, screen flickering its last breath, I knew I’d had enough. I was tired of being tethered to a fragile, power-hungry device. That’s when I had my epiphany—a glorious, liberating vision of a simpler time. The flip phone called to me, and I answered.

    Flip Phone Says Yes!

    Let’s face it, smartphones are addictive. They’re designed to be. Notifications beckon, apps tempt, and the endless scroll sucks us in like a digital vortex. But with my flip phone, I’m free.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not living in the dark ages. I can still call, text, and even take surprisingly decent pictures (gasp!). But I’m no longer bombarded by a constant stream of information and distractions. I’m present in the moment, enjoying real-life conversations and the beauty of the offline world.

    Flip Phone Battery Life: A Legend in the Making

    Remember the days when you could leave the house without a charger and survive for, wait for it… days? Yeah, those were the days. My flip phone is a testament to the long-lost art of battery longevity. I charge it maybe once a week, if that.

    Meanwhile, my smartphone-wielding friends are constantly tethered to outlets, their faces illuminated by the eerie glow of their screens. I can practically hear their batteries draining just by looking at them.

  • 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 heard the saying, “Stop and smell the roses.” But what about, “Stop and appreciate the… uh… Philodendron?” Yeah, doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? But hear me out, because this is a story about how a simple houseplant became my unlikely life coach.

    My Black Thumb and the Resilient ZZ Plant

    Now, I’m not exactly known for my green thumb. In fact, my wife jokes that I could kill a plastic plant. So, when she surprised me with a cheerful little ZZ plant for my birthday, I was secretly terrified. I envisioned a slow and painful demise, with me standing over its wilting leaves, whispering apologies.

    Zeke,” was a trooper. He tolerated my inconsistent watering schedule (sometimes I remembered, sometimes I didn’t) and my complete lack of plant expertise. He even seemed to thrive in the dimly lit corner where I’d relegated him, as if to say, “No worries, dude. I got this.”

    Bouncing Back: A Lesson in Resilience

    One particularly hectic week, I completely forgot about poor Zeke. I was buried in work deadlines, fueled by coffee and takeout, and my once-a-week watering schedule flew out the window. When I finally emerged from my work-induced haze, I found Zeke drooping like a sad, green accordion.

    “Oh no, Zeke! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, feeling like a terrible plant parent. I quickly gave him a good soak, hoping against hope that I hadn’t pushed him beyond the point of no return.

    To my utter astonishment, within a day or two, Zeke had perked right back up. His leaves, once limp and lifeless, were now standing tall and proud. He was a botanical phoenix, rising from the ashes of my neglect.

    That’s when it hit me: Zeke was giving me a masterclass in resilience. He was teaching me that even when life knocks you down, even when you feel like you’re wilting under pressure, you have the strength to bounce back. All it takes is a little care, a little time, and a whole lot of tenacity.

    Slow and Steady: Embracing the Pace of Growth

    As the weeks turned into months, I settled into a routine with Zeke. I watered him regularly (most of the time), dusted his leaves occasionally, and even invested in some plant food. I was determined to be a better plant parent, inspired by Zeke’s quiet determination.

    But Zeke, in his infinite wisdom, had another lesson in store for me. You see, Zeke wasn’t a particularly fast grower. He wasn’t like those show-off Monsteras you see all over Instagram, unfurling new leaves every other week. Zeke grew at his own pace, slowly but surely, proving that real growth isn’t always flashy or instantaneous.