Here’s a thing you might not know about me.

I really love plants.

I especially love the IDEA of plants, and especially when they’re peacefully pinned on a Pinterest board, without all the pesky bugs and dirt and mildew. And I definitely feel that plants should come with a gardener, just like children should come with their own nanny. Unfortunately the universe disagrees with me on this topic.

But the truth is that as much as I adore green springing leafy things, I’m not great at keeping them alive. What happened to our hanging baskets when @epicdanger went to Vegas is something that we can only talk about in hushed voices.

It’s like they expect to be watered EVERY SINGLE TIME or something. Sheesh.

I’m much better with flowers…once they’ve had their heads lopped off. I know that makes me sound bloodthirsty. I have nothing to say in my own defense.

But there is ONE plant in our house that always always always gets the water it needs.

You know why? Because when it gets thirsty, it looks like this, but with more weeping and wailing and gnashing of its petioles:


And then after a good dousing, it perks right back up, usually within an hour.
It’s such a drama queen.

Most of us can learn a lot from this plant.

It doesn’t wait until it’s permanently brown and scorched to express its needs.

It does not bravely stand tall while silently collapsing on the inside.

It is not passive aggressive and resentful that no one remembered to water it.

It isn’t coy or subtle.

It is an excellent communicator, this plant.

It knows exactly what it needs, and it requests it in a most straightforward way.

And I’m always so grateful to it.

That clear communication gives me the best possible chance of keeping it alive. It lets me be my best self as a plant owner.

(Now if I were a psychopathic plant owner, and I poured hot tea on the plant when it clearly told me it needed cool water, that’s an entirely different thing. If you are the plant in this story, and you are clearly articulating your needs, and someone in your life is essentially saying “no,” then you need to call the plant doctor. Or a good Crucible Method-trained therapist.)

If this little fable makes you feel a little squirmy inside, or if it fills you with wild hope, I have a book you need to read. It’s called Love Warrior, and everyone’s talking about it. Don’t let that dissuade you. Go read it anyway. It’s good nourishment for all your tenderest leafiest bits.

much love,



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