In honor of the start of spring, I planted a window garden; and for the past week, I’ve waited for the first hints of something to start sprouting.

Truth be told, I’m worried that I killed the seeds by planting them wrong.

None of the gardening websites I checked said anything about how to figure out if you killed your seeds by doing anything other than waiting for three weeks — but at least they all told me if my seeds are not sprouted by then, there’s a high probability I need to find a new hobby.

When I was in elementary school and we had to grow pea plants to learn about photosynthesis, mine would always die.

Even when the teacher kept them all in the same sunny spot and watered them personally, there would always be one that somehow never managed to grow, and it would always be mine.

Four years in a row I somehow long-distance killed my plant.

(It was probably my loathing of peas that killed it, honestly).

But, optimistically, I decided to try again in hopes that maybe something would sprout and that I could Instagram a dozen pictures of my baby plant.

A plant is the closest thing I could think of to having a puppy, kitten, boyfriend or baby to take a million and a half pictures of.

Plants are much less work, though.

All I have to do is make sure to check the water level occasionally, well, that and wait for forever for it to sprout.

I’m already looking forward to the day when my apartment will smell like lavender even though I’m still pretty sure I killed my seeds before they even had a chance.

I also bought a rosemary cutting and planted that, too, just in case.

My cutting grew about an inch in the first week I had it and seemed to be doing extremely well.

I even had dreams of taking a gardening class and turning my new found skill into some sort of Doomsday Prepper level skill at surviving on growing my own food.

Then I accidently snapped the stem in half and ended up frantically searching for how to doctor my poor, mostly dead, plant back to life.

I did manage to rescue it with a twist tie, although now it grows lopsided.

Someday, if I get over my fear that touching my rosemary sprout will snap it again, I might try and trim it back, stake it with some twine, and get it to grow straight again.

I still believe that even though all I have to show for my gardening efforts are pots of dirt and a lopsided rosemary sprout that in the end everything will work out for the best.

Much like my misadventure with trying to grow a window garden, a lot of the experiences I’ve loved most in college have come by persevering over time even when I was afraid that I ruined my chances before I even started.

Or when after a particularly withering piece of criticism, I’ve managed to keep growing — even if sometimes that means in a new direction.

But above all else, when I’ve been optimistic enough to try, despite prior failings, I’ve found the strength, courage and more often than not sheer dumb luck to not only find success in college but to enjoy so many opportunities along the way.