Plants as a metaphor for change
David Bowie wrote a song about it. Barnes and Noble has numerous books on the subject. And Netflix has at least thirty movies that promise you will after watching them. What theme do a musician, a book seller, and a streaming service have in common? Exchange. I’ve heard it takes twenty-one days to change a habit, maybe, maybe not. Change, in itself, is a reality and there are many ways to deal with change.
How do we see change in our own lives? Sometimes the change can be so small that it seems like nothing is happening. Think: lose weight or quit smoking. You may feel yourself taking 5 steps forward and 10 steps back. Other times, the change can be brutal and fast. Think: an unexpected death, an illness, or a visitor from the past. Perhaps one of these situations has resonated with you and created a change in your life. Many of us know how to measure change in life: the pounds lost on the scale, the number of days without smoking, how many days of exercise, etc.
But what about the change that is happening around us all the time? How can we see it and how can we use it? In January 2011, I started aggressive chemotherapy and was in denial about what the drugs would do to me. I knew I would lose my hair, and even though I read about all the other side effects, I thought, “no, I’m in good shape, this isn’t going to happen to me.” I was wrong.
About a month after starting treatment, I received a plant in a nine-inch pot from a friend in Minnesota. He was in his eighties and cared for his wife who had Parkinson’s disease. The planter contained four different species of plants; it was green and perfect for my little apartment. I placed the plant on a table by the window and watered it every Sunday. As she continued with the treatment, the plant thrived and eventually flowered. I, on the other hand, did not drive. Of course all the hair fell out, then the neuropathy set in, followed by ringing in the ears, loss of taste, and extreme fatigue.
The plant became my metaphor for change. The sicker I got, the more I prospered. I found it uplifting to see beauty in such a small container. Over the years, I noticed that the plant was struggling. I tried different places in the apartment, more water, less water, more sun, less sun, but nothing seemed to work. It was still alive, but with little growth. It spent a few years without even blooming. At the same time, I was also changing. My hair grew back, and like the plant, I struggled to stay above the ground. When I moved to a new apartment, I transplanted the plant thinking it needed more room for the roots. It stayed alive but hasn’t flowered yet and hasn’t sustained much growth.
Four years after receiving the plant, I moved into a house and put it in the front window. He had finally found his happy place. Today, six years after receiving the plant, it sits in a twelve-inch pot, still on the front window. It is twenty four inches tall and spans out in a fifty five inch circle. The plant blooms at least once a month. The man I’m sorry for lost his wife and about a year ago, I lost him. The last time I saw him, I told him the story of the five-year-old plant, but I think he barely remembered that he had sent it.
The plant that had been my constant reminder that change is right in front of us, always. The plant did well, then struggled, then did well, then struggled, and now it’s blooming. The plant had been my constant reminder that change is right in front of us, always, and that as humans, some days—weeks, months, and even years—we can thrive and others we can struggle.
Sometimes I stand by the plant and look out the window. As it stays high, I stay high. I am in awe of her beauty and her persistence despite the odds against her. This fall, I looked out my window and saw a tree in my front yard covered in the most spectacular orange leaves I had ever seen and almost cried. It came off a postcard from Vermont and I live in North Carolina. Now it’s February and there are no leaves, just empty branches. Like the plant, the tree also changes. I remind myself that it will soon have new leaves. The tree, like my plant, is another illustration of how change is right in front of us, if we only take the time to notice it.
The plant has become my metaphor for change. What will your metaphor be? What around you can inspire you to make, face, accept and embrace change?
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