Impermanence

When I first used a permanent marker, I asked my mom what the word meant. She said to be careful because the marker wouldn't come off, thus the reason for the name. The thought scared me, and when using it once, a smidge of ink stuck to my finger. Terrified, I told my mom, only to be told that it would come off skin within a day. 

I struggled to accept the fact that most things in life were of impermanence. I often broke, stained, ripped, my things and were told that they would be "permanently changed", ruined. So I took it upon myself to be more careful with my own belongings. Holding the book with both hands instead of splitting it roughly between the spine, making sure not to wipe my sticky hands on my pants, sitting carefully on grass, not placing my paper items on an oily surface.

For the most part, my items did start lasting longer. But then I would slip up, not check a table before placing my book on it, only to lift it and see it soaked in water. I'd trip over my feet and land on the concrete, ripping the knee of my pants. No matter how much care I tried to take, something might happen out of my control, or I might let my guard down. I started getting very sensitive about my items, constantly hovering over my precious things when they were being used, insisting on being the sole cleaner of my favourite plates, cups, reluctant to lend out books and clothes, eyeing people with dirty hands that grabbed my stuffed friends. 

At some point, I noticed myself getting disproportionately upset when something was ultimately degraded. The constant worrying and anxiety around my "stuff" seemed silly when I stepped back from it, knowing I couldn't take any of these things with me in perpetuum.

A few years ago, when I was starting to get more interested in indoor plants, I attended an information session book tour of a local engineer and plant enthusiast. A question was asked about the care of plants, and he mentioned something that oddly stuck to me. A plant was a living thing, with a set lifespan. You could take care of it and grow it for years, and have it be healthy, happy, but one day it might reach the end of its lifespan. No matter what you do, it would die one day. This was oddly comforting to me, a certified cacti killer. A plant is just a plant. It isn't meant to live forever. 

With that mindset, I became much better at taking care of my plants, understanding that most things could be replaced or regrow, and that sometimes my best doesn't mean that something will last forever. It will last as long as it does, and when its gone, new things can and will eventually take its place. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when a favourite or difficult-to-find item meets its sudden death, but I feel the pain, regret, sadness, and then move forward.