Before my 80-year-old neighbor, Phyllis, moved into a home, she gave all of her plants to neighbors and friends. Ol’ Phyllis had obviously done that 5thgrade science thing where you stick an avocado pit in a glass of water then replant it when its roots start to grow. What she handed me looked like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree: a bent-over twig with one droopy leaf.
Nonetheless, to honor Phyllis and her beloved garden she had to leave behind, I adopted that sad little plant and put him in my backyard. I even named him – Herman – and gave him a ceramic owl “plant pet” from the garden store.
Within months of the sun’s and my loving care, Herman blossomed into a big, leafy bush. I immediately became concerned. His pot was too small. He wasn’t meant to be a mere plant; his destiny was a large, bountiful tree. Besides, I’d learned you were supposed to put sprouting plants in a bigger pot to thrive, or else they become root-bound and never reach their full growth.
I repotted Herman into a sizeable pot of richly fertilized dirt, moving him to the sunniest spot in the yard. When I checked a week later, all of his leaves had died. All that was left were three brown sticks in the soil.
I instantly burst into tears. Herman had been perfectly happy in his cozy pot and spot among the other seedlings. I projected all of my fear and anxiety about living too small and not fulfilling my potential upon that poor plant, yanking him out of his home and forcing him into a “more prosperous” place that didn’t make him happier at all…in fact, it damn near killed him. Why couldn’t I just have left good enough alone? Why didn’t I feel good enough?
I didn’t have the heart to throw Herman away; it felt like a betrayal to Phyllis. Apologizing profusely, I dragged him back to his original spot by his friends. I decided then and there to detach: whatever happened to Herman from now on, and to me, I would just let unfold. I’d still water him, and take care of myself, but no more imposing false beliefs about happiness and success – on either of us.
Several months later, compost bin in hand, I gasped, then smiled. A healthy clump of leaves was sprigging from one of the twigs. Even more, a fresh, green casing was growing over the dead twig where the leaves were being born. Who knew how much a plant could make me cry?
I don’t know whether Herman will make it, or how big, or when. But I do know that if he can regenerate himself in any conditions, so can we.
© 2019 by Laurie B. Gardner
Comments 8
I loved your Herman the Avocado tree and it did make me stop and think about how we can and do put pressure on ourselves and others when we are not just ready for it
Author
Hi Dian, Too true! And often, we think we’re ready at the time, and only realize in hindsight that we truly were not… I deeply believe the Universe/God/Source/Higher Power has our backs, wants us to succeed and be happy, and is guiding us to unfold our lives and growth at just the right time, helping us to learn along the way.
I hope you’re well these days!
Warmly,
Laurie
I’m “rooting” for Herman, for you, and for all of us. I applaud your rejection of forcing growth because of some external definition of our potential and what we’re supposed to want to do.
When we explore, discover and pursue what brings us joy, our energy abounds and effort feels like play.
Author
Thanks, Liane…and AMEN! : )
Talk about being present! How tender that you took care of a “not so beautiful” plant, that, like all of us, is on its journey. New life, after being beaten down by change. Beautifully written, thank you! Your talk, for The Meadows group in Sarasota, FL, was just wonderful. I so enjoyed it! Kudos!
Author
Thanks, Christine! Yes, Herman, though not a “looker,” is definitely a powerful Teacher!
I look forward to seeing you in FL again next year!
Hugs, Laurie
You are such a wise and wonderful storyteller. I adore your groove. Stay you, Laurie. Much love. BOB
Author
Awww, thanks, Bob…right back at ya’! Reminds me of your weed story, LOL! – L xo