The Onus of Nurturing

A sure sign of maturity is to know oneself. I have always held this to be fact and accepted that it can take years to truly come to terms with our whole selves, the good, the bad and the weird.

Knowing oneself makes approaching life easier – you know what your limits are, where your patience ends, what risks are worth taking, and those things you should avoid altogether – basically, what you are and aren’t cut out for. It can be a hit-and-miss process, which takes persistence and humility.

We understand things about ourselves gradually over the course of our lives, like being drip-fed tit-bits from the cosmos in momentary flashes of enlightenment. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, the first illumination happens fairly early in life, permitting you to dodge future heartache and disappointment.

I was in my early 20s when I realised there was one thing I definitely was NOT cut out for: under no circumstances should I be relied upon to ensure the ongoing survival of any living thing, be it a plant, animal or child.

Yes, it’s true. I’m no good at keeping things alive.

Don’t panic, though, the only things which have died under my watch have been (many, many) plants. And let me tell you, that, in itself, has had a suitably devastating affect on me. Surely, few things can be more traumatic than being responsible for the expiration of a helpless, animate organism.

The first time I experienced the pain of accountability was when I moved into my apartment. I was already well aware of my nurturing shortcomings by then but had made the mistake of not informing others – you can imagine it was not something to be proud of. I realised the error of my secrecy, however, when a friend gifted me a bonsai as a housewarming present.

Oh god, a bonsai! One of the trickiest houseplants to care for! I immediately felt the suffocating pressure of responsibility but was determined to do whatever I could to preserve this generous gift. I followed all the instructions to a T, spoke to it regularly and even brought the bonsai with me when I went away for a week to ensure it received the proper attention.

For almost a year, it hung in there but despite my carefulness, inexplicably, the bonsai slowly died. It was a dreadful thing to watch. It confirmed what I already knew about myself but the proof was no less upsetting for the knowledge. I vowed never again – never again would I be the executioner.

Keeping something alive is a massive task requiring long-term commitment, discipline, and a nurturing bent, all things I have low reserves of. Any skerrick of these elements in me are invested in my own day-to-day survival, which is tricky enough most of the time!

Sadly for numerous plants since the bonsai, I did not abide by my oath. Time and again I have put the greenness of my thumb to the test, and every time I have had my fears confirmed. Only succulents adorn my windowsill now because I do love living things, but even these are mainly surviving under their own steam.

So to anyone who ever suggested I get a pet or should have become a mother, let’s all count their blessings and be thankful I learned something important about myself before any damage was done.