The Philodendron That Caught My Eye
It happened on a regular afternoon walk through my neighborhood. The air was warm, the kind of tropical weather that makes everything feel a little slower. I walk this route all the time, so I usually know what to expect — the same businesses, the same homes, the same tameless vines draping over fences.
But that day, something new caught my eye.
There was a lush philodendron plant growing along the side of an old, abandoned building. The building itself looked forgotten — chipped paint, a few broken windows — but this plant was thriving. Its leaves were glossy, full of life and stretching out in every direction.
I stopped for a minute just to take it in. It was beautiful — bold and wild, growing exactly where it wanted to. And for some reason, it really spoke to me. It felt like a reminder of something I couldn’t quite put into words yet. Maybe it was the way it kept growing even in a place that had been neglected. Maybe it was the quiet kind of boldness that you only notice when you slow down.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So a few days later, I decided to go back and try philodendron propagation.
Preparing for Philodendron Propagation
When I went back, I was prepared.
I packed a small tote with a few things — gloves, my gardening shears, a towel, a trash bag, and a pot of water to keep the cuttings safe on the walk home. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but I figured I’d try.
As soon as I walked out of my building, it started lightening and quickly getting dark (it’s rainy season after all). I rushed over to where I originally spotted the plant. When I got there, it looked even more alive than I remembered. I parted the leaves to figure out the best place to cut, and that’s when I saw there wasn’t just one stem — there were multiple stems, growing up from the ground and spreading across the wall in every direction. Nearly all of them were thick and healthy, with plenty of leaves.
I had planned to make one cutting, but after seeing how healthy it looked, I decided on two. I took my time, gently trimming and placing the stems in water. Standing there, I realized how meaningful this small act felt. I was taking something that had been overlooked — something still full of life — and giving it a new start.
That moment made me think about burnout recovery and what it really looks like to begin again. Sometimes you have to go back and reclaim the parts of yourself you left behind — the passions, curiosities, simple joys that were lost when life got busy or overwhelming. You don’t need perfect conditions to start growing again. You just need a little attention, a little light, and the willingness to nurture something small.
By the time I headed home with the two cuttings safely in my bag, I felt energized. It was such a simple thing, but it reminded me that growth often starts quietly, with small, intentional choices.
The Philodendron Propagation Process
Once I got home, I put the cuttings in my utility sink and got to work. First, I rinsed everything off gently, to get rid of any dust or dirt that had clung to them while they were outside. Then I sprayed them lightly with neem oil — just in case there were any pests hiding that I couldn’t see. I wanted to give them the best start possible.
Next, I filled two glass vases with water and carefully placed each cutting inside. I set them in a sunny spot near my balcony window, where they could get plenty of light without being scorched. That was it — nothing fancy, no complicated system. Just clean water, light, and a little attention.
I’ll admit, part of me felt a little impatient. I wanted to see roots start growing immediately and new leaves popping up overnight. But I reminded myself that propagation — like anything worth doing — takes time. The first week and a half was pretty slow. The stems just sat in the water, and I found myself checking them periodically, waiting for some sign of progress.
And then it happened: small aerial roots started to appear, and tiny new leaves began to unfurl. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough to feel like a small victory. Watching this slow, steady growth reminded me a lot of burnout recovery. Change doesn’t happen all at once. Healing, clarity, and reinvention take patience and consistent care, even when progress isn’t immediately obvious.
One of the things I’m learning through this process is just how satisfying the little details can be — noticing a new root tip, the first leaf after the cutting, the way regular water changes significantly impact plant health. Each small sign of growth feels meaningful, even though it’s just a part of the bigger picture.
For me, propagation has become a practice in observation and care. It’s grounding in a very practical sense: checking water levels, rotating the vases for even sunlight, trimming a leaf if it starts to yellow. And at the same time, it’s a reminder that growth — in plants or in life — happens quietly, steadily, and mostly on its own when we give it the right conditions.
This is my first real philodendron propagation experiment, but I can already tell it won’t be my last. There’s something about watching these cuttings grow in water that’s both simple and inspiring. It’s hands-on, but it also feels like a lesson in patience, nurturing, and paying attention to the small things that make a difference over time.
Lessons from Philodendron Propagation
Taking care of these cuttings has turned out to be more than just a plant project. It has slowly become a reflection on life — on how we recover, find clarity, and reinvent ourselves after seasons of burnout. There are a few lessons that have stood out so far.
1. Growth doesn’t happen all at once.
When I first set the cuttings in water, I wanted instant results. I imagined roots forming overnight, new leaves appearing like magic. But propagation, much like recovery, moves at its own pace. Roots take time, leaves take time, and so do shifts in your energy, mindset, or creative spark. The progress is quiet, subtle, and sometimes easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. That patience — the willingness to wait and nurture without rushing — is something I’m learning to develop more of.
2. Small, intentional actions matter.
I didn’t do anything dramatic for these cuttings. A gentle rinse, a bit of neem oil, clean water, and sunlight. That was it. And yet, those small, consistent actions made all the difference. The same applies to recovering from burnout or building clarity in your life. You don’t always need huge gestures or massive changes. Simple, intentional steps — checking in with yourself, taking small breaks, carving out space for a creative project — add up over time.
3. Life can flourish in unexpected places.
I keep thinking about that philodendron growing on the side of an abandoned building. It didn’t need perfect soil or careful tending to exist — it found a way to not only grow, but really thrive. Sometimes we forget that the parts of ourselves that feel neglected, hidden, or overlooked still have the capacity to grow. We just need to notice them and give them a little attention.
4. Reinvention is natural, not forced.
When you propagate a plant, you’re not changing what it is — you’re creating conditions for it to grow in a new way. That’s a perfect metaphor for personal reinvention. Recovery, clarity, or creative shifts don’t mean erasing who you are. They’re about giving yourself the space and care to grow in a direction that feels right now. It’s about creating the right environment — mental, emotional, and practical — so your life can develop in a fresh way.
5. Paying attention is a form of care.
Watching these cuttings has made me more aware of the little details — the first tiny roots, a new leaf emerging, the way water clarity changes over time. That attention isn’t obsessive; it’s nurturing. In the same way, tuning into yourself, noticing your own needs, and observing how you’re feeling is a form of self-care. Recovery, clarity, and reinvention all start with that simple act of noticing: what’s alive, what’s growing, what needs support.
Even though they’re just two small cuttings sitting in glass vases, they’ve already taught me some things. They remind me that growth can happen slowly and quietly, that small, intentional actions matter more than grand gestures, and that life — whether it’s a plant or your own creativity and energy — can flourish when given space and care.
For anyone recovering from burnout, or trying to find clarity and reinvent themselves, the lesson feels simple but powerful: start small, pay attention, and trust that growth will happen. You don’t have to force it — you just have to give yourself the chance to grow, day by day.
Reconnecting Through Philodendron Propagation
Tending plants isn’t just about keeping something alive. It’s about paying attention, noticing change, and giving care without expecting an immediate reward. When you’re burned out, you often feel like you have to do big, impressive things to feel “productive” or “alive” again. But growth — in plants and in yourself — usually starts with the small, everyday actions.
Changing the water, checking the roots, rotating the vases so they get sunlight — these are tiny, almost mundane tasks. Yet they’ve been grounding for me. They’ve helped me slow down, notice details that are easy to overlook, and reconnect with a sense of patience that’s been lacking. That patience spills over into other parts of life too. I find myself approaching decisions, creative projects, and even my daily schedule with a bit more care and intentionality.
There’s also something symbolic about philodendron propagation that I’ve been thinking about. When you take a cutting from a plant, you’re essentially giving it a new start. It doesn’t matter that it came from an older stem or that it was once part of a bigger plant — it can grow and do well independently. That feels like a perfect metaphor for reinvention. When we’re recovering from burnout or seeking clarity, we can create new opportunities for ourselves, even from pieces of our old life. We don’t have to wait for the “right” conditions. We just need to start somewhere.
For anyone reading this who’s looking to reconnect — with themselves, their creativity, or just a sense of calm — I’d encourage you to think small. It might be caring for a plant, journaling, organizing a restful space in your home, or carving out ten minutes to just sit and observe your surroundings. These little acts accumulate. They remind you that you can nurture yourself and your life in meaningful ways without pressure or perfection.
Even a philodendron propagation experiment can be deeply rewarding. There’s something about watching life unfold in front of you that mirrors the steady work of finding clarity and reinventing yourself. You’re not just growing a plant — you’re practicing the art of care, attention, and patience in a way that applies directly to your own life.
Choosing Where to Grow
It’s been almost three weeks since I brought my two cuttings home, and they’re doing really well! Aerial roots are forming, new leaves are popping out, and they’re growing strong in the water I put them in. I keep thinking about what comes next: should I let them continue growing in water, or transfer them to soil once they develop strong root balls? I actually really like the look of them growing in vases, but there’s no rush either way. Honestly, part of the joy is watching them grow at their own pace and seeing what naturally happens.
The choice — between staying in water or moving to soil — feels like a small but important metaphor for life. Recovery, clarity, and reinvention all involve similar decisions. Sometimes it’s about staying in a safe, familiar place for a while and tending to yourself. Other times, it’s about taking a step into something new, even if it feels uncertain. The right timing and environment make a difference, but you don’t have to force it.
Watching these cuttings has reminded me that growth often starts quietly. You don’t always need dramatic changes or big leaps to move forward. Paying attention to your actions, nurturing yourself consistently, and being patient are often enough to create meaningful change. It’s a reminder that intentional efforts can lead to noticeable transformation.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this little philodendron propagation experiment, it’s that growth is always possible — whether it’s a plant in a vase or a part of your own life that’s been neglected. You just need to start, pay attention, and trust that things will unfold. You can allow yourself to grow, even if the space around you feels imperfect. And sometimes, like my philodendron cuttings, that growth can surprise you in beautiful ways.
