Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: slow living

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant






    My Thumb Is Not So Brown After All?

    I’ve never been particularly “good” with plants. In fact, I’m pretty sure I single-handedly kept several plant nurseries afloat with my repeat business. Let’s just say, my apartment resembled a plant graveyard, littered with the ghosts of ferns past. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a sprightly little ZZ plant, I accepted it with a mix of cautious optimism and impending doom. I named him Stanley, mostly because it felt appropriate for a plant I assumed wouldn’t live long enough to earn a real name. Little did I know, Stanley was about to teach me a whole lot more than just how to keep something green alive.

    Lesson #1: Patience, Young Padawan

    Now, I’m a bit of an instant gratification kind of gal. I like my coffee brewed quickly, my internet faster, and my results, well, immediate. Stanley, however, operates on Stanley-time. He takes his sweet time to sprout new growth, unfurling each new leaf with the deliberate grace of a sloth in a yoga class. At first, I’d hover over him like a worried parent, convinced his lack of lightning-fast progress meant I was doing something wrong. But as weeks turned into months, and Stanley continued to thrive (at his own pace, of course), I realized something profound: not everything in life needs to happen at warp speed. Sometimes, the most rewarding things take time, patience, and a whole lot of trust in the process.

    Stanley wasn’t immune to the occasional mishap. I’m talking accidental overwatering, a near-death experience thanks to a curious cat, and even a brief but terrifying run-in with a rogue ping pong ball. But here’s the thing: through it all, Stanley persevered. He bounced back from every setback stronger and more determined to thrive. He reminded me that resilience isn’t about avoiding challenges; it’s about facing them head-on, learning from them, and emerging on the other side, a little battered maybe, but ultimately better for the experience.

    Lesson #3: The Power of Simplicity

    I’m a bit of an over-giver, in all aspects of life. Need someone to organize your sock drawer? I’m your girl. Craving a five-course meal at 3 am? I’ve got you covered. So naturally, when it came to Stanley, I showered him with attention. I watered him religiously, fertilized him like there was no tomorrow, and even serenaded him with my questionable rendition of “Here Comes the Sun” (don’t judge). But then I learned something surprising: Stanley thrived on neglect. Well, not exactly neglect, but he definitely preferred a more hands-off approach. He taught me the power of simplicity, the beauty of letting go, and the importance of not smothering those we love, even with good intentions (sorry, Stanley!).

  • 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 Pinky Finger

    Let’s be honest, my thumbs have never been particularly green. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re closer to a pale pink, especially when it comes to keeping plants alive. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a sprightly little fern for my birthday, I accepted it with a mix of gratitude and trepidation.

    Little did I know, this fern would become more than just a decorative element in my living room. It would become my unlikely life coach, silently dispensing wisdom through its leafy existence. Who knew?

    Lesson #1: Patience is a Virtue (and Crucial for Plant Parents)

    My first lesson came in the form of drooping fronds. Convinced I was overwatering (a classic novice mistake), I panicked and drowned the poor fern in even more water. Turns out, ferns like their soil consistently moist, not soaking wet. This is where the patience part comes in.

    Instead of frantically Googling “how to revive a drowning fern” every five minutes, I learned to observe, to water slowly, and to wait. To my surprise, the fern bounced back, teaching me that sometimes the best course of action is to chill out and let nature do its thing.

    Lesson #2: Growth is a Journey, Not a Race

    As weeks turned into months, my fern grew, albeit slowly. It wasn’t a dramatic, overnight transformation, but a gradual unfurling of new fronds, each one a small victory. I realized that growth, much like life, isn’t always linear or Instagram-worthy.

    There were also times when my fern needed a little help. A bit of fertilizer here, a new pot there. This taught me that asking for help, whether it’s from a gardening expert or a trusted friend, isn’t a sign of weakness but a sign of wisdom.

  • 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?

  • 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, my thumbs have historically resembled more of a barren wasteland than a lush garden. I’m that person who could kill a cactus with a single, well-intentioned glance. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a houseplant – a supposedly “unkillable” ZZ plant – I accepted with a healthy dose of skepticism and a silent prayer for the poor thing.

    Little did I know, this plant, which I creatively christened “Zephyr,” would become my unlikely life coach, teaching me valuable lessons through its silent, leafy existence. Who knew such wisdom could sprout from a terracotta pot?

    Lesson #1: Patience is More Than a Virtue, It’s a Watering Schedule

    My first blunder? Overwatering. I showered Zephyr with affection (and probably enough water to last a month) on a daily basis. I mean, water equals life, right? Wrong! Turns out, even low-maintenance plants have their limits. Zephyr started to droop, its once-vibrant leaves turning a sickly shade of yellow.

    Zephyr with love (and H2O) every five minutes.

    Lesson #2: Even in Dark Corners, Growth is Possible

    Life got busy. I moved apartments, started a new job, and Zephyr, well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly top of mind. I relegated him to a dark corner, my guilt growing with every passing week. When I finally remembered my neglected friend, I was sure I’d find a withered husk.

    To my utter astonishment, Zephyr was thriving! Not only had he survived my neglect, he’d sprouted new growth, reaching towards the sliver of sunlight peeking through the blinds.

  • Why I Still Write Handwritten Letters (and You Should Too)

    Why I Still Write Handwritten Letters (and You Should Too)



    The Lost Art of Letter Writing (and How I Rediscovered It)

    The other day, I was rummaging through a box of childhood treasures when I stumbled upon a stack of letters, tied together with faded ribbon. As I carefully untied the bow, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. These weren’t just emails I could pull up on my phone; these were handwritten letters from summer camp, each one a time capsule of laughter, inside jokes, and the kind of unfiltered honesty only a twelve-year-old can muster.

    Holding those letters, I realized how much we lose in our digital age. Where’s the anticipation of waiting for the mailman? The thrill of seeing a familiar handwriting on an envelope? The tactile pleasure of unfolding a letter and tracing the words with your fingers?

    So, I did something radical. I dug out a fountain pen (okay, it was a ballpoint, but a girl can dream!), unearthed some stationery, and sat down to write a letter. And you know what? It felt amazing.

    When My Letter Became a Family Heirloom: A Story

    My grandmother wasn’t one for grand pronouncements or emotional outpourings. So, imagine my surprise when, after her passing, my mom handed me a carefully preserved letter. It was the one I’d written to my grandmother on her 80th birthday – a rambling, slightly goofy account of my life as a college student, filled with terrible jokes and questionable life choices.

    Apparently, that letter, the one I’d written off as a silly distraction, became a treasured possession, something my grandmother read and reread, a tangible link to a granddaughter who lived miles away. It made me realize the unexpected power of a simple letter; it wasn’t just paper and ink, it was a piece of my heart, shared across the miles.

    The Power of Slow Communication (Even With Bad Handwriting!)

    Look, I get it. We live in a world of instant gratification. Why wait for a letter when you can fire off a text in seconds? But hear me out. Writing (and receiving) a handwritten letter is an act of deliberate connection, a slowing down, a way of saying, “You are worth the time and effort.”

    And let’s be honest, there’s something charmingly human about a handwritten letter, even with all its imperfections. My handwriting may look like a spider dipped its feet in ink and went for a stroll, but hey, that’s part of my charm, right?

    A person smiling as they write a letter, surrounded by colorful stationery and stamps.
  • The Unexpected Joy of Missing My Train (And What I Learned Instead)

    The Unexpected Joy of Missing My Train (And What I Learned Instead)




    The Unexpected Joy of Missing My Train (And What I Learned Instead)


    We’ve all been there. Standing on the platform, watching our train pull away as we frantically pat our pockets for a nonexistent time-turner. Just last week, I joined the ranks of the tragically-late commuters. But what started as a travel nightmare turned into a surprisingly delightful day. Here’s the story of how missing my train opened my eyes (and my stomach) to unexpected joys.

    The Great Coffee Caper of Platform 4

    Picture this: me, sprinting through the station like a caffeinated cheetah, only to arrive at the platform just as the doors slide shut with a mocking hiss. My stomach, already grumbling from a missed breakfast, chose that moment to unleash a growl that could rival a T-Rex. Defeated, I slumped onto a bench, the weight of my missed meeting settling on my shoulders like a soggy backpack.

    coffee shop tucked away in the corner of the station.

    Unexpected Encounters: The Kindness of Strangers

    Now, I’m usually a “grab-and-go” kind of coffee drinker, but the cozy atmosphere of this place drew me in. I ordered a latte and a blueberry scone the size of my head (hey, I was emotionally compromised!), and found myself chatting with the barista, a friendly woman with a contagious laugh. She told me about her dreams of opening a bakery, and I shared my own aspirations as a writer. It was a small, everyday conversation, but it filled me with a warmth I hadn’t realized I was missing.

    And the kindness didn’t stop there. As I was leaving the coffee shop, a kind gentleman noticed me struggling with my suitcase and offered to help me carry it down the stairs. We got to talking, and it turned out he was a retired history professor with the most fascinating stories about the city. He pointed out hidden architectural details I’d never noticed before, and by the time I reached my destination (a charming bookstore I’d never have discovered otherwise), I felt like I’d been on a mini-adventure.

    Finding Joy in the Journey: The Beauty of Slowing Down

    Missing my train forced me to slow down, to be present in the moment, and to appreciate the small joys I usually rush past. It reminded me that sometimes, the unexpected detours in life can lead to the most rewarding destinations.

  • 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




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    My Thumb Went From Black to…Less Black

    Let’s be real, I’m about as far from a “plant person” as you can get. My idea of gardening is picking up the occasional fallen leaf in my backyard. So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a majestic (read: leafy and green) houseplant, I panicked. I, a notorious plant-killer, was now responsible for a living, breathing thing. What followed was a crash course in botany, self-reflection, and surprisingly, life itself.

    Lesson #1: Cultivating Patience Through Plant Parenthood

    My first mistake? Assuming that plant growth was akin to watching paint dry—boring and excruciatingly slow. I hovered, I watered (maybe a tad too much), and I checked for progress every five minutes. Unsurprisingly, my leafy friend remained unimpressed. Then, one day, I noticed it. A new leaf, unfurling like a tiny green flag of victory. It was a slow and subtle change, easily missed if you weren’t paying attention. It dawned on me then, much like life, growth takes time. Sometimes, the most significant changes happen gradually, without fanfare. The key is to trust the process and be patient.

    Houseplant Taught Me Tough Love & TLC

    Confession time: I almost killed my plant. Twice. The first time, I forgot to water it for what felt like an eternity (okay, maybe two weeks). The second time, I overcompensated and practically drowned it. Turns out, plants, much like humans, need balance. They need tough love in the form of boundaries and consistency, but they also thrive on care and attention. Who knew that learning to nurture a plant could be such a powerful reminder of how to nurture my own well-being?

    Lesson #3: Celebrating Small Victories (and New Plant Growth)

    Remember that tiny green flag of victory I mentioned? That new leaf became my personal Everest. I celebrated its arrival like I’d won an Olympic medal. It was a small victory, sure, but it represented something significant: growth, resilience, and my ability to keep something alive (a major feat for yours truly!). It was a reminder to celebrate even the smallest wins in life because they all contribute to the bigger picture. Plus, any excuse to treat myself to celebratory donuts, right?

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned From a Houseplant



    plant parenthood could be politely described as “noble failures.” So, when my well-meaning friend gifted me a sprightly little ZZ plant, I accepted it with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “This one’s impossible to kill,” she assured me. Famous last words, I thought.

    But something unexpected happened. Not only did my ZZ plant thrive (despite my best efforts to accidentally drown it), but it also started teaching me some surprisingly profound life lessons. Yes, you read that right – life lessons from a houseplant! Who knew?

    Lesson #1: Patience is a Virtue (and a Watering Schedule)

    One of the first things I learned from my ZZ plant was the importance of patience. Unlike my impatient self, who craves instant gratification, this plant was perfectly content to grow at its own pace. It didn’t sprout new leaves every day, or even every week. But when it did finally unfurl a new shoot, the sense of satisfaction was immense.

    Plant)

    Remember when I mentioned my tendency to overwater? Well, let’s just say my ZZ plant has seen its fair share of soggy soil. But here’s the thing: it always bounced back. Even when I thought I’d drowned it for good, it would perk right back up after a little drying-out period.

    This resilience was incredibly inspiring. It reminded me that even when life throws curveballs (or overzealous watering cans), we have the inner strength to weather the storm. Just like my ZZ plant, we can adapt, recover, and come back stronger than ever.