Day Fourteen
I chose my apartment because it has a lot of light. I sacrificed space for light, and I never regretted it once. When I moved in, one of the first things I did was buy a plant shelf. (I now have two more shelves, though one is technically a repurposed shoe rack.) I have lots of plants. I call them my indoor jungle. In spring and summer it’s so hard for me not to impulsively purchase a plant when I’m out.

When the weather is warm, I spend part of my Saturday morning tending to my indoor jungle. I love that time, just me and them. Feeling the leaves and the soil, checking for pests, problem solving when there are issues. My jungle has been a massive source of solace and joy for me this last year.

But this winter, it’s been rough. Both personally and for my plants. I lost quite a few in the space of month or so. I’m not sure what happened. Plants that were totally fine just died. Others just withered. One just turned brown almost overnight. There are two more there that aren’t going to make it. I feel so helpless. I was really upset. I am really upset. I feel like there’s a curse on my plant corner.

I’ve always known that failure is not a sign of personal failing. But it’s hard not to take this personally. I worked so hard, poured so much of myself into them. But nothing helped. It makes me want to give up. Even though while all this is happening, there are also successes – my other plant corner is thriving.

Maybe it’s because I have all the dead plants in the corner of my dining area, like a morbid reminder of my failures. I feel so drained these days, dried out and withered, just like those dead plants. I can’t bring myself to clean out the pots. I need to move on. I need to clear that space, both physically and emotionally.

That’s how this last year has felt. There have been some good things, things to celebrate, but somehow, all that I feel and see is the bad. I’m drained. Maybe those plants dying is a sign I need to take care of myself better. Or maybe it’s just a bad draft in that corner.

I’m going to try to focus on the new growth going forward. If I can’t clean up, I’m going to at least get those dead plants out of sight tonight. I’ll have to deal with them eventually, but I don’t need to force myself to confront it every day. It’s not a clean slate, but it’s a start. Sometimes just those steps are good enough.

This year has been a roller coaster. No one is truly okay. We’ve been forced to think about death more than we like. We’ve learned to hold our loved ones closer. We’ve all had moments of frustration, anger, depression, sadness; there hasn’t been much joy. And none of these feelings are new to any person — just living means you will experience these things at some point or another — but they feel more compounded this year. We don’t know what we’re going to see on the other side of this. It’s been tough, it is tough, and it will continue to be tough for a while still.

One thing I know, though, is that whatever happens, we are all stronger for it. Because here’s the thing – I have plants that died, but I also have plants that survived, that made it back from a being stripped down and almost dying. I have plants that put out their first new growth in six months. I’ve managed to get some roots on cuttings from some of the plants that died. That gives me hope – there is new life, even where there was death.

So, even though I’ve been uninspired this year for Love, February, you all have given me hope. Hope that reminds me that even when I’m drained and tired love exists all around us in many forms. Hope that I can feel fuller next year. Your love stories, the small things that make you happy, the words you have generously shared – they all gave me extra light in the last two weeks, when I didn’t know I needed it.

Thank you.

Love,
February

A picture of my shelf from better days, back in November.