Patience has never been my strong suit. Like many people today, I grew up in a culture of instant gratification. Fast food, fast answers, next-day delivery, real-time notifications. We are wired for speed. So, when I decided to bring home a small Golden Pothos as my first indoor plant, I expected it to grow quickly and impressively — just like everything else I was used to. But it didn’t.
It grew slowly. Very slowly. Sometimes it did nothing for weeks. And that used to frustrate me.
But over time, caring for that humble vine taught me one of the most powerful life lessons I’ve ever learned: how to be patient — truly, deeply patient — with something outside of my control.
This article explores how the journey of growing a simple houseplant became a mirror for my own personal growth and why patience is a skill worth cultivating, especially in the age of speed.
Why I Chose a Golden Pothos
Golden Pothos (Epipremnum aureum), also known as “Devil’s Ivy,” is famous for being low-maintenance, adaptable, and beautiful. Its heart-shaped leaves with golden streaks add vibrant charm to any room. I read online that it was perfect for beginners — nearly impossible to kill and happy in low light.
That sounded like the kind of commitment I could handle. I bought a small one with just a few vines and placed it near my living room window. I assumed I’d see changes quickly. New growth. Bigger leaves. Long trailing vines. I was ready for transformation.
But the plant had other ideas.
The First Lesson: Growth Happens in Silence
In the first month, nothing happened. The plant didn’t grow. It didn’t bloom. It didn’t even lean toward the window. I watered it once a week. I wiped its leaves gently. I even whispered to it sometimes (don’t judge me). But it just sat there.
I started doubting myself. Was I overwatering? Underwatering? Was the light not enough? Was I not good enough to keep something alive?
I checked the soil daily. I Googled obsessively. But the plant remained still.
Then, one morning, I noticed a tiny green bump at the base of a vine. A new leaf was forming. I felt a rush of excitement — and then a wave of humility. That tiny change took weeks. But it was happening all along — just beneath the surface.
This was the first time I realized something profound: not all growth is visible. And often, the most important changes take place in silence.
Learning to Let Go of Control
When you live with a plant, you realize quickly that you’re not in charge. You can provide the right environment, but you can’t force anything. You can’t make a leaf unfurl. You can’t rush a root system. You can only care, and wait.
This was uncomfortable for me. I’m used to checking things off a list, getting instant results, moving fast. But plants have no urgency. They are grounded — literally and emotionally. They follow the sun and their internal rhythm. Not your schedule.
The more I tried to control the Pothos, the more frustrated I became. So, eventually, I stopped micromanaging it. I gave it light. Water. Space. And I left it alone.
And that’s when it started to thrive.
Letting go of control didn’t just help the plant — it helped me.
The Beauty of Slow Progress
One day, I came home and noticed the Pothos had finally sent a vine across the bookshelf. A single, small leaf had unfurled — slowly and delicately. I was mesmerized. I must have stared at it for ten minutes.
That one leaf meant more to me than anything I’d accomplished quickly that week. It was a symbol of persistence — a sign that slow progress is still progress.
We’re often conditioned to see slowness as failure. But plants remind us that life doesn’t follow deadlines. Sometimes, growth takes weeks or months. Sometimes, you’re not failing — you’re just becoming. Quietly. Steadily.
Observing Without Expectations
The more time I spent with my Pothos, the more I began to observe without expectation. I started noticing:
- The slight twist in a new vine before it opened
- How the leaves leaned toward indirect light sources
- The subtle color shift in older leaves
- The change in soil weight before watering
Instead of watching for big results, I found joy in tiny details. This shift in perception bled into the rest of my life. I became more patient with people. With work. With my body. With myself.
Observation without expectation became a form of meditation — a way to stay grounded in the present moment without constantly needing outcomes.
Resisting the Urge to “Fix”
There were weeks when the plant drooped slightly. My first instinct was to fix it — immediately. Add more water? Move it? Repot?
But I learned to pause and assess, rather than react.
That practice taught me something invaluable: not everything needs to be fixed immediately. Some things need time and attention, not intervention. Sometimes, the plant just needed rest. Just like me.
This reframe changed how I approached my emotions. Instead of rushing to fix anxiety or sadness, I started allowing myself to feel and rest — knowing that I, too, would rise again when the time was right.
As the months passed, the Pothos began trailing beautifully down the side of my bookcase. I didn’t train it. I didn’t manipulate its path. I just let it grow where it wanted.
That decision taught me to trust natural direction — in plants and in life.
We spend so much energy trying to steer everything perfectly. But what if we let go a little? What if we trusted our instincts, our timing, and our own internal sunlight?
My plant wasn’t growing in the direction I expected. But it was growing in the direction it needed. That realization was quietly liberating.
A Living Reminder to Slow Down
Today, my Golden Pothos is full, vibrant, and draping across my apartment like a green waterfall. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded of what it taught me:
- Slow is not a synonym for stuck
- Patience is a form of love
- Control is often an illusion
- Tiny steps still move you forward
- Rest is part of growth
That plant became more than a decoration. It became a teacher. A companion. A mirror.
Bringing Patience Into Daily Life
Inspired by my plant, I began practicing patience elsewhere:
- I stopped checking my phone obsessively during conversations
- I waited a full minute before replying to stressful emails
- I gave people space to finish their thoughts
- I allowed myself longer mornings without guilt
- I stopped measuring my days by productivity
I stopped rushing — and life started feeling softer, deeper, and more aligned.
Final Reflection: The Slow Bloom
Caring for my Pothos was not just about watching a plant grow. It was about watching myself grow. Slowly. Quietly. Patiently.
There is something incredibly healing about living with a being that asks nothing from you except consistency and care. That responds to love not with noise, but with leaves.
In a world obsessed with speed, my Pothos became a sanctuary — a place where patience blooms and where I learned to stop measuring time by what gets done and start measuring it by how it feels to simply be.
If you struggle with patience, I recommend starting where I did: with a single, small plant. Watch it. Care for it. Sit beside it. Learn from it.
Because sometimes, the best way to grow is not to rush forward — but to root deeply, stretch slowly, and wait for the right moment to unfurl.