rebirth

As he was packing up and moving out last year, my roommate walks up to me, holding the saddest potted plant you ever did see, and says, “Do you want this?”

I have not yet turned down a houseplant that has been offered to me, nor have I left an abandoned one an orphan.

My roommate had been gone for a large part of the year, giving him little chance to water a languishing peace lily. If I had known about it, I would have gladly taken over its care in his absence, but I didn’t get my hands on it until months later. By that point, the lily had survived a severe drought and, later, a flood. Do not expect everyone to know that a houseplant needs drainage holes at the bottom of its pot.

I am happy to say that after immediately repotting it and being a little more temperate with my watering practices, I succeeded in nursing the poor thing back to health. Within several weeks it was growing new leaves. And within six months it started to bloom. I told my roommate and he said, “It’s never done that before!” (Really? You don’t say!)

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Rebirth
I’d always particularly disliked peace lilies. I’m not a fan of really leafy plants, much more preferring plants with lots of blooms. I still don’t like peace lilies, but I’m thrilled every time mine develops a new leaf, and when I saw it unfurl its single pure white flower, I was surprised at how lovely I thought it was.

Let me be clear: I do not have a green thumb. I have killed more plants than I have brought back from the brink of death. For all my effort, that mint plant I wrote about months ago has returned to its anemic winter state, though I still can’t bring myself to throw it out. But I find it extremely cathartic to have plants around to care for, and I think that helps me prevail in keeping a few alive at a time.

It’s been about a year since I rescued the peace lily. The once-lovely bloom droops and has turned brown and yellow – a truly hideous remnant of its summer glory.

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A thriving plant with a healthy, dying flower
Like plants, people have parts of them that bloom brightly and shortly die away; but this doesn’t necessarily indicate a problem or a disease. It can be a sign of flourishing to leave a talent or trait behind that had once served you well, making room for a new and different beginning.

A dying lily blossom means the plant was healthy enough to bloom in the first place. May it rest in peace until next summer.

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twelve

Mesmerizing charm
The marine hypnotist sails
Jellyfish garden


My fifth grade class took a trip to the New England Aquarium, a trip I would obsess over for years to come. The part I recall most vividly was a small display with tiny bioluminescent jellyfish, which to my mind looked like small light bulbs with a warm, glowing filament inside. When I finally made it back to that aquarium, about ten years later, the place was sad and rundown, and the display that was so indelible to me was long gone.

One year ago, I made my third voyage to an aquarium – this time to the National Aquarium in Baltimore. After viewing all the sea creatures on the upper and ground floors, my partner and I almost made the horrible mistake of leaving before we discovered the jellyfish room downstairs.

The whole aquarium is impressive, but the jellyfish displays were superb. Hushed awe prevailed in the darkened room as handfuls of enchanted humans gazed at these graceful, alien beings. So many shapes and colors and varieties, silent, fluorescent, and dangerous behind their glass walls.

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lessons

Today I have officially survived twenty-five years in this world. As a mark of this achievement/miracle, I wanted to formulate twenty-five things I’ve learned in twenty-five years of experience. I wanted to – until I realized that’s way too long of a list for me to come up with (or for you to want to read) in one sitting.

So, you’re only getting the top five today.

Here they are, in the order they occurred to me.

  1. Everyone’s story is different. To disregard that in my actions and opinions is to be violently apathetic.
  2. It sounds backwards, but whenever I assume that most of the people (strangers) around me are goodhearted, I’m very often surprised to find that it’s true. On the other hand, if I’m expecting bad-natured behavior (often because I’m in a bad mood myself), that’s mostly what I’ll see. Everybody has bad days, but my perspective determines, in great part, my perception of the world.
  3. “Don’t pick up any wooden nickels!” My dad used to say this to us almost every morning as he left for work. I just thought it was absurd then, but when I inspect it more closely now, I find it to be as astute as it is succinct: Though being opportunistic has its advantages, one should be careful to be neither gullible nor greedy. As one remarkable person once said, “Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”
  4. Still learning this one, but for uptight people like me: U-N-R-A-V-E-L. I was born wound tight, but there’s no sense in making things harder for myself than they need to be. This has been by far the hardest lesson for me to practice.
  5. True to their dual nature as both signifier and meaning, words matter in two different ways. Although it’s true that you have to be careful with your words because someone could always be listening, I realize now that being heard could not in itself make words any more important, but only more influential. It is the fact that I choose to say – or refrain from saying – a word that makes it important. In other words, selecting a word is its importance, using it is its influence. My word choice has changed enormously over the years, and many people would argue with some of the changes I’ve made on either side. But it has become a living dictionary that mirrors the most significant changes in the past twenty-five years of my life.

 

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There you have it. A quarter century of wisdom. Stay tuned for the next quarter!