Planting seeds 🪴
When your roots outgrow your pot, and end-of-year dreaming.
I had a rare weekend all to myself. No plans, just vibes.
I skipped ACL this year and couldn’t have been happier, especially when Austin hit 100 degrees (again) on Sunday.
So on Friday, I cleaned my house and went to Barbell Club at the gym to learn how to Olympic power clean. Saturday I read for hours, got vaccinated for flu and covid, and saw the new Beetlejuice. On Sunday, I took a long morning walk along Lady Bird Lake before the heat rolled in. Then I got to work on the day’s real task: Fall Repotting Day.
I’ve been a plant lady for a solid decade now. Back in Brooklyn, I would haunt my favorite nursery, J&L Landscaping, which Yelp tragically told me is no longer open. But there was no greater joy than being greeted by the large ginger cat guarding the cash register and talking about plants with the worker with the thick New York accent. It was a tiny paradise in there, plants packed into every nook and cranny, floor to ceiling, aisles meant for one — nothing like Home Depot’s cavernous garden section or the acres-wide nurseries my parents like to visit in Las Vegas. Sometimes I’d lug a new plant with me on the mile-and-a-half walk home, saving myself the cost of an Uber on a sunny spring day.
When I left Brooklyn for good in August 2020, leaving my plants behind was a sad, strange part of the process. Some went to close friends, and some stayed with my former roommate, who I believe still lives there. I wonder how they’re doing now, four years later.
After I moved to Austin in the summer of 2021 and finally lived alone for the first time, it was a six month-long (at least) obsession for me to put my apartment together — but plants were an essential ingredient to make my new city feel like home. My Facebook Marketplace addiction was strong, and I found my first new plant companions online. I picked up a thriving Monstera and ZZ plant from a woman’s apartment up north. My Buy Nothing group contributed pots and tools and gloves. I found affordable prices and a whimsical atmosphere at East Austin Succulents, and several cacti and echeveria came home with me. Finally, Home Depot helped me finish things off with soil, pots, and some filler plants.
My first fall here, I planted a garden in the small patch of dirt in front of my place, a longtime dream I was never able to realize in NYC. I knew nothing about outdoor gardening, so I hired a woman I’d recently interviewed for a story about her gardening business to help me plant arugula, beets, carrots, and onions. The garden yielded mid-to-poor results, while my friendship with her bloomed.
Three years later, the plants (and I) have gone through many seasons and cycles. Some are thriving, some are struggling, and some died off, no matter how hard I tried to keep them alive. And Sunday, I welcomed seven or so new plants into the fold.
In 100-degree heat, I spent three hours outside replacing the soil of each and every plant, using stakes to prop up plants that needed more support, gently wiping dust off leaves. I unfurled tightly packed roots, and moved plants that needed more space into bigger pots. I did the vital maintenance work of keeping these living things, friends of mine, alive and ever-growing.
Tiktok failed to load.Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser
Three years after moving here, I realized that I’ve outgrown my pot. I’m using the final quarter of the year to plan big moves for 2025, which I’ll share with you when I’m ready. But it’s simple enough to say, I don’t want what I wanted three years ago. Or, that I got a lot of what I wanted when I moved here — my own home, more access to nature, a steadfast community, a patio nook where I do my morning writing and stare into the trees — and now I want other things.
It’s time to prune, water, and follow the sun’s axis as it lights a new path. These fall months — imbued with transition, decay, impermanence, release — are my time to plan for the future just coming into focus, a crystallizing Polaroid.
The last quarter of the year can feel ghostlike — something you spy out of the corner of your eye, unable to pin down. One minute it’s there, and then, poof, it’s gone! Almost like it never existed at all. A blur of holidays and parties and food and family and out of office messages.
There are 77 days left in 2024; two months and 16 days. It’s not a countdown to cower in front of, but an invitation to make this time count for YOU.
Journal prompts for end-of-year dreaming
What’s one thing you’d love to accomplish/complete by the end of 2024? (Or, what’s one thing you’d like to shed/be rid of?)
What are three smaller steps you can take to make that a reality?
Block out time for each step in your calendar now to hold yourself accountable. Fiercely protect that time.
CELEBRATE your wins along the way, especially when you hit that big year-end goal.
What are some 2025 dreams you’d like to start planting seeds for now? (The next New Moon is on November 1!)
Tarot spread for my woo-woo babes:
Pull five cards that represent:
You in fall.
You in winter.
What you’re shedding.
What you’re calling in.
A secret wish.
