When Plants are Like Us

I am trying to diagnose my Mother Tongue plant’s illness the other day, when my client arrives for his session.

It is a big plant comprised of a jungle of vibrant knife-like fronds and some other drooping ones, which are causing my concern.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

An orthopedic surgeon, he fixes knees and shoulders very well.

But plants are a complete mystery to him.

“See how droopy it is?” I ask. “It wasn’t like this before.”

“Hmm,” he says.

His mother, like mine, is dying. He has bigger fish to fry than my plant.

“It’s very old. And here, there is this new growth. Maybe part of it is just dying,” I say hopefully.

He considers it again. This time he points to the tallest upright frond, standing alert and alive. Still old, but outstanding, outlasting its peers.

“Do you know how hard it must be to hold up all of that?” he asks, suddenly understanding that, in this way, plants are not that different than humans.

We stand there a few more moments, marveling at this mystery and everyday miracle of living things.

I have since learned that my plants’ drooping fronds may have nothing whatsoever to do with old age, but instead over-watering. In other words, owner error.

Sometimes, life really is just about a little moderation, letting things right themselves and getting out of the way.

This is a life skill: the practice of balancing, making micro adjustments from day to day.

While doctors are highly skilled at saving lives, anyone but their own, they’ve often not spent much time learning the fine art of living.

As my client and I look at my plant, we know we are both looking at a teacher of sorts.

Sometimes the most massive changes happen with small adjustments that begin with knowing when enough is enough, or when too much is not a good thing.

And learning how to love ourselves, so you can care for patients and your loved ones with a full heart and a vibrant body.