The Plant

There is a plant in my apartment, which I have had for years. I can not remember when I got it, but it has followed me from place to place, apartment to apartment. It lives in a tiny plastic brown pot, which sits within another slightly larger porcelain white planter, making it look like it has more space than it does.

Every day I look at this plant with both admiration and guilt – proud of how it has survived over the years in less than ideal conditions, yet embarrassed with my lazy refusal to recognize that it has outgrown its current home.  “It’s still green” I tell myself, to ease the guilt. “I water it when I remember, and it sits near the window so it gets light”. But when I look closer I have to admit I’m bluffing, because I can see the weakening of the stalk, the slight withering and curling of the ends of the leaves where they are slowly turning brown. It’s roots are struggling and have grown far too large for the tiny space I have confined it to for years.

I have had this plant for long enough to know that it’s not doing as well as I’d like to believe. This plant is not healthy. It needs sunlight, needs to be outside. Yes, it is time for a transfer somewhere new, because living things need room to grow.