Hector's haircut

Sometimes plants need haircuts. As someone who historically has a grim thumb… I didn’t know.

I have a Pothos, and have had it for almost 2 years. It’s the first house plant I haven’t killed in record speed. I’ve grown a bit fond of it. In that time, it’s grown a bit of fond itself.

Today, I was prepping it for my neighbors who graciously agreed to water it for me for a few weeks. While prepping it I realized that certain parts of the plant had grown exceptionally long segments of vine with no leaves.

In the interest of not handing off a plant with a Burning Man rat tail… I decided to snip snip and even out Hector’s mange.

Yes, my Pothos is named Hector. Moving on.

Hector’s haircut

After Hector’s haircut I decided to try and propagate a few of the clippings.

Of note at this point in the story is that I’ve never actually learned how to propagate a plant. Remember, I kill plants really well. I have — however — seen friends with leaves in water, roots growing out of them, so I did what I’ve learned to do well and just copied what I assumed was plant propagation.

Many of Hector’s hair clippings were now in water. I did some laundry, took Hector over to the neighbors, pretended I wasn’t internally popping confetti when they said “what a beautiful plant” and then returned home.

Whiiiiiile I was folding my aforementioned laundry, I gave in to a frequent temptation of mine. Curiosity. I was now wondering how to correctly propagate a Pothos since… you know… I’d already done it without giving a single fuck of what the “right” way is.

Luckily, most of what I’d done was correct. Cut the vine near a leaf node so that the right chemical reaction kicks off telling the plant to produce new leaves, and the propagate to spit out a vine to stay alive.

I sat, watching some greenhouse goddess on YouTube explain the process, marveling at the thought of the Pothos spawning endless copies of itself through propagation. It felt like I’d stumbled upon a glitch in nature that humans have learned to exploit so well that some person folding clothes can comprehend it in les than five minutes. Up up right left left square is the infinite Pothos cheat code. Use it wisely, adventurer.

And then, as it goes, my brain insisted on trying to take this new concept of plant propagation and see what else matches its shape.

Becoming Hector

Intuitively, knowledge transfer seems similar to plant propagation.

A person has a wealth of knowledge. They portion out a slice of it and convey that slice to someone else. The knowledge from the original person doesn’t get clipped and removed, but there is an impression left from the act of sharing it.

In the recipient’s mind, this new knowledge is divorced from its origin. It was healthy and made sense where it came from, but now… does it?

The recipient may test the health of the knowledge before letting it take root in their mind by isolating it, feeding it with logic, emotion, attention. If the knowledge responds well to this environment, great! Plant that shit and let it become part of your larger understanding.

But if not, maybe the knowledge isn’t healthy enough to live on its own. Maybe it can only survive in the context that it came from. Or maybe this new environment doesn’t suit it. Either way, planting the knowledge in your mind risks it dying, decaying, or even infecting other parts.

Like Hector taught me today, the healthy way to propagate is by mindfully trimming the right parts of the plant to trigger the right response. Then letting that propagate grow in isolation before planting it in a new pot or garden. Mainly for the health of the propagate!

Perhaps knowledge transfer is similar. Knowledge should be trimmed off and shared mindfully to trigger the right response. Then letting that knowledge grow in isolation while feeding it with thought before situating it in our broader understanding of things.

Today — in exchange for a haircut — Hector the Pothos taught me something pretty cool.