Mom and I visited The Old Yew Plant Shop in Chelsea. I just cannot resist a good plant shop. They call to me. I don’t always buy a plant, but I love to visit, to gawk, to admire, to ask questions. It’s just the absolute cutest place, so if you are in the area- make sure you swing in. It smells like earth and hugs and everything green and beautiful, and the staff is beyond lovely.
Anyway, commercial hour over.
I spotted a little teeny baby plant on a shelf and I knew. She had to be mine. She was perfect for the family. I gently picked her up and showed her to mom who silently nodded her head. She understood. At the same time, we turned to the delightful human manning the store and asked if she was high maintenance. To be clear, I wouldn’t avoid her altogether if she happened to be, but it’s good to know. Just in case. Depending on the level of maintenance, it might be kinder to not bring her home. For example, if I don’t have the light she needs or the ability to water her on her particular schedule, it’s likely she would perish and that would just be incredibly selfish of me. No?
Yes, there is a whole other message underlying my little diatribe, but we can get into that another time. Let’s move on for now.
The response I received to our question was: “No, not high maintenance- she just has a narrow window of likes.”
Dead. Deceased.
I immediately responded with: “That is perfect, and also, my brand, now.”
I mean, have you ever heard anything more perfect? Why? Well, because it takes something that has an incredibly negative connotation, which is essentially having standards, and describes it in a way that’s actually really beautiful.
And maybe that is what really happens as we age. Maybe our window of likes just narrows as we go through life. As we have experiences and get hurt and feel joy and build a thicker skin and accumulate scars and learn lessons- maybe a window that was too wide and too open, closes just enough. It’s not that the window closes completely. It’s simply reconfigured to be more suitable.
In the beginning, before we know anything, we don’t even know what our window should look like. And, as we ask ourselves what we like and what we don’t, and what we need, we begin to sort out what our window looks like. And the beautiful thing about that is it is customized for us. It’s one of a kind. And also, a living, breathing thing. Yes. Really. The window isn’t a permanent installation. It isn’t a thing that is settled and never revisited again. Perhaps we have to make our window incredibly narrow for a time while we heal. Perhaps the harm was too great and the wound too big, and we don’t know how to reside in the middle. And so, we retreat.
But we don’t stay there, in a tiny space. We emerge again. We move the walls of our window so that we can let a little more light in. And perhaps, if we are smart, we do so slowly. We do so in a measured and careful way. Inch by inch. We see how it feels, how it works, what things look like. We ask ourselves, do I feel safe here? Do I need less or more or maybe time to think about what I need?
I’ve always rolled with the notion of high maintenance. I mean, I asked the question about a gorgeous little new green friend. And now, I’m reconsidering my stance, or my perspective. Maybe I’ve been helping feed a narrative that’s too critical and too judgmental and altogether inappropriate. Perhaps there is no such thing as high maintenance, but rather, there are just different needs.
Maybe some of us need more of certain things and less of others. Maybe we are not everyone’s cup of tea or taste. That doesn’t mean that we are too much or too little or unfit. It simply means that someone who decides to partner with us, as a friend or lover or companion or partner, needs to be on board for all the ways in which we need. Or not, and then, everyone needs to be okay with that sentiment.
Maybe it’s less about tearing someone down for their very individual desires, and more about respecting that they understand themselves in that fundamental way.
Cool. Well, what about those who have greater needs but don’t seem to think they fall into that camp? First of all: who gives a fuck? You have the choice to engage with that person or avoid them. It’s really not your business unless you decide to engage and then, buyers beware. Secondly: where is our compassion? Should we automatically assume that the person is selfish and demented and disconnected or should we just understand that it takes self-reflection and emotional intelligence to be in touch with one’s needs. It’s not something that everyone comes to quickly and it’s not something anyone comes to without work, and it’s not something that certain individuals ever get to, for a variety of reasons. Could they be a shitty human? Sure. It is more likely that they just don’t choose to tap into that part of their psyche and soul for their own, very personal reasons?
Yes. That is more likely the scenario.
Or a scenario at least. Point is- who the fuck knows and it’s none of your business, UNLESS you decide to jump in. And if you do, don’t hate on that person, because YOU made a choice.
What’s my point here, really? Well, I write a lot about how much agita misogyny gives me. I talk often about how itchy sexism makes me. And really, I’ve been contributing to it for some time now. I mean, more women are labeled as high maintenance than men, amiright? I don’t think we need a survey or a study to make that claim.
A guy prefers certain whisky or to workout at the same time every day or to drive a nice car- and he’s elegant and classy and has high standards. Describe a woman similarly and she’s a high maintenance pain in the ass. Boo. I’m done with that narrative. Today.
So, next time I wander into a plant store to eye the goods, and I see some baby that I’m dying to take home, my question is going to be: What are her needs?
See what I did there?
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