In 2011, I moved from Huntington Beach, CA back to my hometown of Oakland, CA. I had applied to several graduate schools throughout California. I chose to attend Cal State East Bay and packed up for the city that was calling me back to it.
My Dad was very happy to have me back. He took me to garage sales and thrift shopping to find home furnishings for my new apartment. At one garage sale, my eyes were drawn to two small succulents within a white ceramic pot decorated with koi fish. I thought this would be a nice addition to my apartment.
I never did any gardening or had ever kept plants, but I knew that succulents were easy to care for. The succulents lived up to their reputation for resiliency as it was routinely neglected. I watered it sporadically (when I remembered to). Occasionally, I would lovingly touch its petals and speak to it. While I neglected it, I was also neglecting myself. I was not happy. I was struggling with anxiety and depression, unemployment/underemployment, a lack of self-love, unpacking my childhood pains, binge drinking, and felt I had no direction in life.
In 2016, the plants were beginning to overgrow their 3rd pot and I was only slightly happier. We had a really heavy winter rain which waterlogged the flowers. I was told that it would die if I tried to replant it in that condition, that I should wait until spring to replant it…but it would continue growing, so I was better off cutting off some of the baby succulents and saving the larger ones. I didn’t want to lose any of them. I separated them into different pots and they were healthier that way.
After years of just calling them succulents, I finally decided to discover their variety. I learned that they are a species of Sempervivum, also known as “hen and chicks.” Sempervivum means “to live forever.” Though the individual flowers don’t live forever, the plant grows new babies from itself, essentially cloning itself.
Learning this was ironic with all the anxiety I went through trying to save each flower. The flowers know that their time is limited but I was desperately trying to cling to them, because to me, they represented my independence. If I could keep them alive, there was hope for me.
Last year the “original” plant died, as did the “original” version of me. I had been afraid of change, but I damn sure wasn’t happy staying as I was, so I did a number of things such as changing my career, taking a self-love course, spiritual healing, and reading several books to improve. Though things aren’t perfect (and they will never be), my love for myself has expanded, which has increased my confidence in my abilities.
Now I know that I am worthy of the life that I desire, that the only thing that keeps you in an undesirable position is your attitude, and that sometimes you have to let things die for better things to appear.
