What Doesn't Serve You

It’s funny, the things we buy to comfort our wants. Something so small, or not known to really be meaningful in the moment other than just being "things." So we buy that necklace we saw through an Instagram ad, or that shirt we thought was meant for us to have, because it’s still on the rack when you pass it for the fifth time during your “I’ll think about it,” walk around the store. Maybe it’s that $100 shirt that’s “vintage” from Urban Outfitters, or those really expensive jeans you shouldn’t buy but for the sake of your ass it’s having that one good pair of jeans.

My go-to forms of materialistic comfort are buying overpriced bath bombs, Epsom salt, a “holy grail” face mask, vinyl records, and as of recently plants. You know the "because self-care,” stuff. As I stumbled into the plant world, I didn’t realize exactly what it is that I have in my possession. You think “Oh, a plant. All I have to do is water it enough and maybe it won’t die,” you know it’s not a dog, a bird or some lively animal you literally have to treat like they’re your child. So you put them in the parts of your home to make it look earthy, exotic, chic… a decoration of some sort.

I have a beautiful limelight plant that sits elegantly by the edge of my window in my studio apartment. Just enough to get some Sun and fresh air, and watering once a week is very doable. It’s been going strong with me for about 5-6 months now. She’s by far the strongest plant I’ve had, as I’ve watched my peace lilies die, and even a succulent I had once. But the limelight has helped me come to a realization that when I look at it, I am looking at a mirror. How this plant has had many parts of itself turn brown, wither and die, like me. Who would've thought, something I used for adding livelihood to my home, added livelihood to me as an indivual.

When I calmly pluck off its dying leaves, and carefully trim off the parts turning brown on her fresh leaves she looks healthy, beautiful and restored. Though even with some of her brown leaves it added character and a melancholic beauty to its ripeness. There are parts of me withering away like the leaves of the plant, making room for rejuvenation and newness into my life. The plant is a living form of what you look like when you let go. Bright and green, lighting up the room with a presence that bleeds serenity.

There are still parts of you turning brown even on the new leaves, and it still makes you beautiful. The little parts you cannot cut that are still turning brown are your flaws, and so much of you outweighs all of them. Those spots could also represent the pain we carry that somehow seems impossible to let go of, and that's just nature. It’s about consumption really.

I could let the leaves underneath keep getting brown, let them pile up until it’s too late to cut them off, until it is nothing more than dried up brown leaves, and never seek growth. Plants have taught me to cut off the parts of me, others, and situations that do not serve me. What is blindly teaching you to cut off what no longer serves you? is it your cup of tea maybe? Or was it that "vintage" shirt from Urban Outfitters? The little things are the universe's way of showing us what we need, even if we think we're just buying, using, seeing, or eating junk. There will come a day where it will just pop out at you, like caring for the plant in my home did for me.