Ladybird
Welcome back! This week I want to try something a little different. I am sharing a story that I wrote a few weeks back, which details an experience and realization that I am still thinking about today. I hope there is a little something in here for each of you.
Several months ago, my fiancé and I (recent plant dads) decided to purchase our fifth house plant. Christian and I had a gift card to our plant shop, nestled in one of favorite neighborhoods. The energy of this shop is so calm, so inviting. It’s no surprise that the name of the shop itself is “Oasis.”
On our visit, we spotted a few, large Bird of Paradise plants. Their overflowing foliage and cascades of deep green caught our eye. We knew just where to place her in the apartment. Christian got the car, we loaded her up and within an hour she was in a new basket, taking up her space in the corner of our living room.
“Ladybird,” we call her.
Since having her, she has expanded beautifully into the space, with shoots of new foliage that we eagerly watch with anticipation as they unravel.
Most recently, she had three new branches of foliage emerging from her roots. All ranging from two to about four feet tall. As we watched them, we waited patiently for them to unravel. Very patiently.
The largest shoot seemed to be so ready to unfold. I could not wait to see how large this leaf was going to be. It certainly would be the largest yet. But, weeks went by and the shoot stopped growing and had not unfolded. “What does this mean,” I thought?
To make matters worse, the base of the wrapped up foliage began to tear and break from the seemingly, tightly spun leaf. It began to reveal the layers of this leaf that have yet to unravel.
It drove me insane.
I can be quite the perfectionist at times. The thought of this plant, under my care, having nothing less than a gorgeous, perfectly shaped and untorn leaf… well that was unacceptable. So what’s a plant dad to do? I decided to give her some loving help.
I stood on a chair near her to assess the shoot from all angles. I could see the line where she would begin to unravel, much like finding the end on a roll of clear tape. I gently touched the shoot, bending it ever so slightly, and I could see the edge of the leaf lift, just a little, allowing some air under it. That was enough. I gave her some support and that’s all she needed. “She’s so lucky to have me,” I thought.
The next day, I woke up and entered the living room to see that Ladybird’s most promising new shoot was exactly how I left it. I could see the tear in the base of the raveled leaf expanding. “Yeah that’s not going to work for me,” I thought.
I mounted the charcoal Z Gallery chair once more to offer the support that only a father of five could. This time I went to the very tip of the shoot, hoping to help it unravel just a bit more, sending a chain reaction down the entire leaf and signaling that it was safe to unravel.
I touched the tip, and what I heard and felt sent an immediate wave of shock and guilt through my body. “Snap.” The tip of the shoot, carrying the leading edge of the story of this new leaf, had broken… and it was my fault. “What have I done?”
It’s been a few weeks and there has been some very slight unraveling, but all far from perfect. The entire shoot is covered in splits. Surely, I’m a horrible plant dad. “How could I do this to her? Why didn’t I know better? How do I tell Christian that I maimed our beloved daughter?”
So now I sit on the couch looking up at her with curiosity. “Where did I go wrong?” Then I did what I should have done weeks ago. I turned to the experts.
With a quick search on Google, I found many results, but one sentence caught my eye and forced my mouth open with a sharp inhale, followed by a long exhale. “Oohhhhhhhhhhh,” I realized.
“The split leaves that give the Bird of Paradise its bird-like morphology is scientifically believed to be purposeful leaf tearing or lobing of leaves to reduce drag in the wind.” - The Sill
I now realize that my so called “love and care” for this plant has actually been a disguise for ill-informed perfectionism and control. “Who am I to direct her growth? Who am I to try to make her perfect? Who am I to define what perfect looks like?”
This realization and these accompanying thoughts have far reaching implications for me and — while we are reaching — human nature. The desire to control our environment and everything in it is embedded in our DNA. And yet, these things we glom onto contain their own universe. They have their own experiences, their own desires, their own purpose… all of which will unravel in their own time.
Thanks for reading!
If this post resonates with you, I would so appreciate your sharing it with friends, loved ones, and colleagues.