On Houseplants

Last week I landed back on planet Earth. I can’t fully explain where I was prior to my most recent arrival, all I know is that suddenly, halfway through the second set of a band I was running sound for, I felt a kind of deep ‘thump’, and there I was. 

I think I left my body somewhere around five (or was it six?) months ago. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t been all doom and gloom. Bad Buddy was named the “Seachange Artist of the Year,” a title we are honoured to have been awarded. At Christmas I got to experience the joy of seeing my whole family in the same room for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Geoff and I had the most amazing adventure where we went camping for the entire month of October, the two of us living in a tent by a river. It was a chilly paradise where I was wonderfully unreachable and it gave me some much needed mental space. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about houseplants. Anyone who has been inside my house knows I have somewhat of a jungle growing in there, most of which has been adopted through various friends looking for a change of scenery. I’ve been thinking about the plants, admiring how well they do in the low light of the living room. I recalled a conversation with someone who didn't understand the love of houseplants, finding them unnatural. Surely plants should be growing outside in the sunshine and the rain and the pollinators. While I understand this perspective, the relationship I have with my plants is something I hold dear to my heart.

There was a time when my houseplants were the only thing keeping me alive. At my lowest, the signs of neglect were clear in each of them, their wilting forms a reflection of myself. I knew it was wrong of me to treat them so poorly. They require so little, and it was my responsibility to provide that small amount of care. Though they are incredibly resilient, they need help to grow, they can’t survive on their own. When I refused to let them die, I refused the same to myself. Caring for them became self care, and we grew into healthy beings together. I’ve gotten quite good at recognizing when the plants are in need - not enough water, too much water, too dim, too bright, too cold. I often make adjustments to make up for what might be lacking. Upon reflection, I realize that I stopped addressing the symptoms of need within myself somewhere along the way.

I know I’m not alone when I express my fatigue. It’s exhausting feeling like constantly I have to remind myself that “this is not a normal time, it's alright to not feel normal,” that my lack of motivation isn’t because I’m a failure, that I’m going to get through this, that I haven’t let anybody down. Each day of this pandemic I’ve worked to summon the energy to pour into the things I’m passionate about, and each day it has become increasingly more difficult to find the will. So I suppose six months ago (or was it five?) the well must have run dry. My music career, my LIFE, started to feel like a fantasy. It’s ridiculous, really, because Andi, Geoff and I have been working really hard, we still have our eyes on the prize, it’s just that making any “future plans” felt like a strange prank we kept pulling on ourselves. It’s like when you repeat a word over and over until it doesn’t make sense to you anymore. It was such a long time trying to keep my heart a-float. My vision blurred, I got tired of treading water. 

Seems to me that ol’ Al really hit the nail on the head when he said that time is relative. Relatively speaking, it felt like I had nothing to tie me to reality - any shows were canceled (again), any excitement snuffed out, any sense of urgency diminished. Time seemed to have lost all meaning; whatever hope I had managed to scrape together for the future faded away, like a dream on awakening, and I floated gently into dissociation.

But, Last week I landed back on planet Earth.

I can’t fully explain what kicked me back into myself, but wow am I ever thankful for whatever did. While I still feel a little distant, I feel more present than I have in a long time (I’ve almost finished all the laundry). I can speak very little of my trip to outer space. I just think my body and brain needed to reboot. I’ve never been good at relaxing, and I need to acknowledge the importance of being restful.

I’m sure this comes as no surprise, but I didn’t get into music for money (lol) or validation. I’m here because I am compelled to be, because I love it, and if I start to resent myself, or the art I am working on, I know it’s time to take a step back, regroup, and remind myself what is important. I know Andi and Geoff feel the same. I’m reminding myself that in order to continue to output, there must be input. The other day, I was speaking with a friend of mine. She said, “sometimes it’s good to have periods with little-to-no output,” and assured me that my inspiration would return. I think she is wise. I feel I’m on the cusp of welcoming creativity back with open arms. I’m thrilled to feel there is some bubbling under the surface. Perhaps my ideas just needed some time to ferment.

I’ve been thinking a lot about houseplants. A houseplant didn’t ask to be a houseplant the same as I didn’t ask to be born, yet here we are. The least I can do is offer a little care to get by. I’m working to acknowledge when I need a little more sun, or a little less water, or to be left alone for a while and I’m working to give myself at least the same attention I’d give to a cactus. 

It’s nice to be myself again.
How strange it is to be anything at all. 

-e

P.S - Things are coming up and they are starting to feel real. (I’m convinced they are). I think I’ll keep my feet firmly on the ground for a while. Thanks for sticking with us.

To my friends: I couldn’t do this without you. I love you all.