Needing space to grow
What plants can teach you about life
Last year, I got a free mint plant at Whole Foods. At first, I had no idea what to do with it, so I did the bare minimum; I put it on my windowsill and watered it. That one plant quickly became two. And those two plants quickly became four. And I expanded the pot size from four five-inch pots to three eight-inch pots.
They had a lot of room to grow on a table in the back of my apartment. The whole table was lush and green and that part of my house always smelled of mint. It was lovely.
A couple of months ago, I had to take a trip for about one and a half weeks. I figured that my plants would be okay if I watered them before my departure and immediately upon my return. And yes, I left the shades open so they could get sunlight while I was away.
When I came home, they were okay for the most part. The leaves were brown and crinkly on the shaded side, which wasn’t surprising. I watered them right away, and they came back to life, but these plants weren’t the same. I couldn’t figure out what was causing that.
As weeks passed, the leaves covered by the lush, green leaves turned brown, even with regular watering. I wondered if the plants needed a bigger pot, but eight inches should have been enough. That’s a big pot!
Upon a second look, it seemed like the leaves were fighting for sunlight. They were struggling to grow and find their place rather than thriving.
One Sunday morning, I decided to remove the dead leaves and vines, trim the length, and put space between the pots. I cleaned an old desk and made that an extended plant home.
I put three pots on the desk and one on the original table. The plant family grew when I received a new hydrangea as a gift after I returned from the trip. I put it between the mint plants.
At first, I thought that the plants being close together helped them because they all came from the same plant in the same pot. They were “family,” so to speak. I wasn’t sure how this new arrangement would impact them.
After the trims and providing them more space, I watered them, crossed my fingers, and waited to see what would happen. At first, it didn’t look good. There were many brown leaves and dead vines. Only a handful of green vines were left.
Except for one plant. It had a vine that perked up with green leaves. Even the next day after all the trimming and watering.
Promising.
After a few more days, I noticed some new leaves growing. Some new vines grew, too. Some vines that I thought were dead came back to life. The plants went from brown and bare to lush green again.
Three weeks have passed and they are now all green except for a handful of old dead leaves. Slowly, the plants are shedding them. Slowly, they are thriving.
In a way, I feel like my plants taught me that there are times when we all need space and room to grow.
Being close to others can feel nice, but it can be confining and constraining. You may get brown leaves and not feel as lush as you were as a person because, for some reason, you can’t fully show who you are. You have to hide your new leaves under other leaves to fit in and belong. You become what you have space to be. You may seem okay on the surface, but underneath, you are dying. In the end, you don’t grow.
You need room to explore more sides of yourself, to let the inner you come out, and to become a more robust person. And you can’t do that if there are expectations for you to act a certain way, talk a certain way, or be a certain way. You can’t grow if you are fighting for sunlight to live.
As I have been studying Buddhism over the past year, I have noticed changes in my personality and behavior. Nothing severe, but gradual changes. I’ve noticed an improvement in compassion for myself through my ability to ask for support for my needs more often. I’m allowing myself to notice how I’m feeling. And I’m open to receiving, not just being a giving machine. Maybe I have a greater awareness of who I am?
I have also noticed that I generally feel less anxious, even when facing complete uncertainty. I am embracing the “we shall see” mentality. I no longer approach life as learning lessons or instructions to change; I accept what is before me and understand that how I react to it is the test itself. My choices define my life. Rather than embracing a magic creator who will grant me wishes like a genie if I speak them the right way, I see how we each create change in the world through our actions and acts of compassion.
If we each chose to be kinder to each other, we could change the world.
I stopped ruminating about why things happened as they did in the past. I reflected on what happened and realized that I don’t need to dissect these moments and the psychological states of the people in them to understand why the events unfolded as they did. All I need to do is see what happened, acknowledge it, realize who everyone is, and move forward in a different way. Make different choices to get different outcomes. I learned what it meant to “let it go.”
To practice this more often and willingly, I guess I needed space to let go of my old beliefs and action. I noticed it during a recent therapy session. From March through May, I had many losses. Big losses. But my therapist reminded me that although I suffered through losses, I did have gains. We didn’t have that optimistic, kumbaya, “all will be well” talk. We were discussing reality and acceptance. I was asked to give a presentation at a conference (although it was cancelled, I am still part of the group). I have had amazing interactions with birds, bunnies, and squirrels at the Dallas Arboretum. Just this past weekend, a bunny scampered towards me and a male and female cardinal landed within arm’s reach. I saw a second bunny scoot away and observed several squirrels nearby. The week before that, I saw a blue jay bathe in a creek and heard two cardinals singing to each other.
Those are precious moments of awe and wonder. They are rare and beautiful.
However, I insisted to my therapist that I continued to experience losses. We discussed what those were. I didn’t get a gig that would have become a political nightmare. For another role, a recruiter mentioned that I was too senior to be a good fit. We discussed those rejections for what they were. And they weren’t spiritual coincidences or me finding my enlightened way. For some reason, someone in those groups didn’t believe that I would belong in those environments. And that’s okay. I want to be somewhere I belong and people accept me.
I belong to me first. I need to honor that and be where I can grow.
In some ways, this time of my life has been a way for my brown leaves to fall and to trim away my dead vines. Those brown leaves and vines remind me of the confinement and judgment of others expecting me to be someone else. I’m getting space on that plant table, in the sunlight, to explore my new expressions, interests, and identity of who I am becoming without the shade that comes from who I am today.
It can be isolating. It’s slow. But growth is happening in new ways.
