Safe Space Check-in & Life with Plants (So Far)

In January, I mentioned wanting to make an effort with my living space which, if you recall, looked like this:

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I’ve been making slow steps here and there (and hitting you over the head with it), and as of several days ago, looked more like this:

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So, marginally neater. Most surfaces are still covered with paper clutter (my specialty), but I’m not stressed. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, right?

In clearing and tidying one space at a time, I’m reminded of another (tiny) issue: it looks a bit devoid of personality. Of course, it’s evident someone lives here. But who?

To perk up my apartment, I’m finally starting to invest in some indoor plants.

Apparently I’m not alone in this. The New York Times recently published this article about how millennials are filling their homes and workspaces with plants.

Until recently, I’ve only really owned a leggy dracaena plant (in the top photo) that I bought my second year of university. (I briefly had a baby aloe plant, but the lack of all-day sunlight – and no window sills – resulted in its unfortunate demise.)

The plant used to reside at my mom’s house. She had the space, the right type of light, and she’s got a super-green thumb. Then I moved, and she told me it was time to claim my friend.

Travel’s been the main reason for not having more plants. I didn’t want to wander off somewhere for two or three weeks and leave them to die from a basic lack of attention.

But since I can’t afford to go very far and my leafy companion looks bit lonely, I figured I’d try again.

I’d fully intended to start slowly – doing lots of research to make sure I got plants that were hardy, relatively low-maintenance, etc.

But one evening, my friend Renee offered me one of her spider plant babies — already a solid size with decent roots — and I happily accepted.

After I’d gotten it home and placed it in a jar of water, I briefly panicked. I had soil, but no small planters with drainage.

Enter YouTube. This enterprising green-thumbed spider plant owner was super-helpful and informative, and by the next night, voilà:

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I call my plant Val (for the cheesy Valentine Day-themed tumbler I bought from Dollarama to keep her in).

She seems to be doing well – she’s sprouted two leaves. So far, I’m doing something right.

Of course, this has now sparked a bit of an obsession.

Three weeks after bringing home my spider plant, I went browsing with a friend at Home Depot to get some ideas for other types of plants …

And against my better judgement, walked out with a lemon button fern.imag1601824270745.jpg

Now, some people say ferns are easy to care for; others say they’re among the fussiest houseplants around.

I’m doing my homework and trying my best, but let me put it this way: I don’t think I’m winning the fight to keep my fronded friend – dubbed “Vern the Fern” – alive. Vern currently doesn’t resemble the photo you see here.

Amid all of this, I’d been on the lookout for a plant that I thought was cute, but turns out to be one of the plants to own, according to Instagram and plant lovers: the pilea peperomioides, a.k.a. the Chinese money plant, missionary plant, pancake plant, etc.

When I started researching pileas, online information suggested that one’s best bet was to get a baby plant from another pilea owner, as trying to buy one can apparently cost you $30.

Thirty. Dollars. It’s like the Cabbage Patch Kid of plants.

However, one of the Facebook groups I’d joined had been (and still is) on pilea watch. The first time someone posted a sighting of baby pileas at Canadian Tire – for a fraction of the standard price – word got out and they were gone in almost no time.

The second time there was a sighting, I marched myself to the store the following afternoon and got one of the last three plants.

imag1611-1978273529.jpgFor now, I’m the proud owner of a baby pilea. About two weeks after bringing it home, bugs started emerging, so – thanks to some Facebook advice – I dumped out the soil, washed the plant and roots as well as I could, and re-potted it.

This is what it currently looks like. I’m watching it closely to make sure (a) it’s bug-free and (b) it lives. Keep your fingers crossed.

I’m currently on a break from plant collecting to make sure I can handle caring for my leafy new charges.

It’ll be a while before I successfully create my own private Wakanda – and I’m not aiming to own hundreds of plants – but I think I’m on my way to making my abode a little more homey.

 

 

Health, Adult Style

Last month, I mentioned wanting to try and do better in terms of my mental well-being, as well as the literal space I inhabit.

This month, I wanted to try to set my intentions for a few other things …

Starting with my physical well-being.

Late last year, my eating habits and physical activity spiraled. Big-time.

Instead of nourishing myself with home-cooked food — and, to be honest with you, good food in general — I ran to the nearest fast-food outlet or Starbucks, without hesitation. I treated my body like a trash can.

In the fitness department, I still went to my usual fitness studio … here and there. But I was inconsistent, at best.

And my sleeping patterns? Hoo, boy.

It’s not just staying up to watch late-night TV until I’m snoring into my chest, on my couch. YouTube is a rabbit hole I fall down on many, many nights.

In this respect, I am definitely my father’s daughter. My dad would stay up late all the time, falling asleep in front of the television, only to stumble off to bed in the middle of the night. But of course – due to some other factors (which probably wasn’t helped by his intentional sleep deprivation) – he’s no longer here.

Yes, women do tend to outlive men. But that still doesn’t mean I’m possibly not cutting my life expectancy a bit short – at least, with the things I can control. I’d like this to be the point at which my habitual path takes a detour from my dad’s.

A quick pause before I go further: This isn’t really a “I need to go to the gym and eat right and lose weight” post.

I do go to the gym (although I’m currently being booted onto class wait-lists by people going HAM on their New Year’s fitness resolutions). And when I put my mind to it, I can eat right.

My problem is, I fuelled last December’s stress with anything that was deep-fried, baked and sweet, or covered in cheese and meat. I’m pretty sure I can count the number of days that I didn’t eat take-out on one hand. But this has going on for much longer.

Also: I haven’t been 25 years old in a looong time. I might be setting the foundation for whatever health problems I could experience going forward. So I have to start scaling that back a bit.

I’m never not going to have days where I throw up my hands and empty my wallet for burgers, fries, pizza and lots of battered, fried chicken. (Mmmm. Fried chicken. **drools**)

But I think I need to learn how to handle my stress in a different way.

2018: Self-Care & Social Media

When I last posted, it felt good to write out what I was feeling. But I had no idea how many people would respond — on Facebook, through email, even in the comments section of this blog.

Thank you. It means a lot. I know I’m not the only one who has ever felt this way, but it’s good to be reminded that I’m not alone.

So … another reason that I think I’ve felt overwhelmed and a bit withdrawn, is because of some forms of social media.

Before Twitter and Instagram, I was solely on Facebook. I posted almost every day — sometimes multiple times per day. Articles I’d come across, photos from trips, the occasional funny video, whatever my heart desired.

But in the last couple of years (perhaps earlier than that), the tone … shifted.

As news events intensified, so did posts, discussions and arguments amongst people I knew and those I didn’t. Some things I’d read seemed sharp; others, almost scolding; others still, borderline mean.

So I’d manage it by muting or unfollowing for my personal mental health.

On a few occasions, friends would come into my DMs to espouse their opinions on a post where I’d left a one-word response … or vent about someone they’d locked horns with on a thread in my timeline … or intiate a conversation about a hot topic, out of the blue.

Here’s the thing: I know things can get heated, but I shouldn’t ever have to play referee in online chats. And sometimes I wish people sliding into DMs for opinion-based heart-to-hearts would check to see if I actually want to engage … not just because they need to unload their thoughts.

In this day and age, yes, we should have a more critical eye about what we read, and conversations should incorporate different points of view. Note the word “should”.  And some people do try to be civil in online discussions. But others don’t … not really.

I think things finally struck a nerve with me last spring.

One day, I posted a news article about something to a world figure. It was probably the second article I managed to look up. It didn’t take long for a Facebook friend to pipe up, asking why the media was so biased in its coverage of certain individuals.

Honestly, when I found the article, the thought didn’t even occur to me – only that the event had happened. And perhaps I misread the tone of the comment, but it came across as a bit harsh.

So after posting another article on the same subject written in a different manner and pointing that out to the critical Facebook friend (it’s a big planet, friend), something in my head simply said, enoughI’m out.

The online sniping, and having to be aware of (potentially) emotionally-draining news events as part of my job, had finally taken its toll. So last year, I posted far less. I don’t think folks have noticed, because friends still tag me in posts and photos.

These days, I find comfort in Instagram, where all I post are things I do, places I go, and occasionally things I make for myself.

Ironically, I also go to Twitter – which yes, can be more of a cesspool than Facebook … but also a place where lots of genuinely great people share fun, funny, educational, useful, poignant things — which provide some levity and perspective on days I feel more introverted.

But I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

Last year, a couple of my friends scaled back on time they spent on sites like Twitter. At least one of them said they actually didn’t miss being online as much. Even recently, I’ve seen colleagues announce that they’re taking social media breaks.

Right now, I don’t think I need to take a break of my own. But the more I see people do it, the more I think it’s a smart idea.

As this year goes forward, I will try to remind myself that it’s okay to occasionally unplug from the chatter as needed, in the name of self-care.

Because things can get you down. And in times like these, my mental health is more valuable than any tweet, post or meme.

2018: Self-Care & A Safe Space

I’ve been trying to write this for about a week now.

But every time I try to finish, life and work seem to interrupt … which, I suppose, is part of the theme of this post.

So if you’ll indulge me for a bit, let me get this out of my system — and I am a bit cranky, so you’ve been warned.

I’ve been feeling a bit overwhelmed for the past week and half.

December — which, if you celebrate the holidays, can be a stressful time for anyone — just felt more exhausting than usual.

For starters, my workplace has been going through considerable changes over the past few months. What I originally thought could be a chance to take on a little more work and improve my skills, has become a frustrating grind. It’s a struggle to keep up at times, and occasionally I’m finding it tricky to concentrate on multiple tasks at once. This could just be a bumpy adjustment period which still could turn out to be positive. But right now, it doesn’t feel that way.

I was also psyching myself up for Christmas … but when I wasn’t procrastinating, I was  rushing around and running errands. And it was also holiday party season, so I felt like I was pushing myself to be social – even on days when I wasn’t in the mood and preoccupied with all the tasks I had to get done before Christmas.

Then, add several days of jury selection to the mix. In hindsight, it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but it definitely threw me off schedule.

So I’m currently having a bit of mental fatigue. I’m genuinely wondering if I’m mildly burned out.

In an ideal world, I’d take some sort of leave of absence. But as a household of one, and with the cost of living continuing to rise, the economics to do so isn’t really in my favour.

So, how to deal?

Well … I wanted to start the year with a self-imposed social moratorium (excluding a previous commitment) for a week or two — just to collect my thoughts, rest and recharge, and re-organize. I need to start taking care of myself again, so I can get my act together. Perhaps this might be something I’ll have to do more than once this year. But we’ll see how this month goes.

Speaking of re-organizing …

From time to time, people ask me from time to time how my apartment is. I mean, it’s still in a good location, and it serves its function by giving me shelter and the things I need on days I don’t have to go out into the world. But when I look around, my surroundings aren’t exactly inspiring. A more fitting word would be “underwhelming”.

Recently I came across this skit (on one of my favourite late-night programs), and it’s giving me a bit of inspiration:

I like the idea of a safe space, of being able to escape the harsh, tiresome world — in real life or online — by turning my apartment key and opening the door to my own little oasis.

If you think about it, that’s what your living quarters should be – not just the space that holds your crap but your home and, what’s more, a safe space or an oasis.

Of course, part of having an oasis or refuge is having a space that’s relatively clean. I started 2018 with my apartment looking like this:

If cluttered spaces denote cluttered minds and cause stress, then it’s no wonder my apartment looks like what happens when mild anxiety vomits up Christmas.

Currently, it looks something like this:

Slightly less crap, but still very much a bit of a hot mess.

I’m not looking to redecorate (yet), but I think de-cluttering and purging, a bit at a time over the next little while, would be a practical start in helping me decompress.

Even putting on my big girl pants, getting on my knees and scrubbing my oven and fridge would probably make a world of difference.

If I’m going to be a little less stressed, then perhaps coming home to a cleaner space would help me decompress.

Baby steps.