Last fall, the creative and ever-inspiring Ashley of Nourishing the Soul came up with the fantabulous idea that bloggers focus on one word per month, and write about it as a way to engage in self-discovery and growth. The series has now been hosted by many talented and thoughtful folks, and this month’s host is no exception: Mara of Medicinal Marzipan. Mara chose the word change, which for many of us conjures up images of the mundane–changing our underwear–as well as the harrowing–having to ditch those old, self-defeating patterns in order to make life better. Here are my musings on the word. And if you’d like to participate by writing your own piece, whether you have a blog or not, please visit Mara’s website for information on how to do so!
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With spring come tumultuous shifts in a terrain that we’d nearly forgotten during its long, white slumber. But now we notice: Dark sky gathers rain, then heaves its offering in drizzle and downpour. Leaves unfurl, infinitely greener than our memories would attest, and the stark, bare bones of trees lose their distinction, obscured by a fuzzy web of growth.
Though we haven’t seen it, the earth’s flora has been hard at work all winter, preparing for the catwalk of spring when every variety of beauty trumpets itself in showy color and delicate bloom.
For the earth, it looks easy, this inevitable parade of change. There is no choice, no decision to be made.
But for those of us who walk around the planet on two legs, things are different. Many of us scratch and claw to hold on to what is, fearing that, if we peel away our fingers and release our white-knuckle grip, we will freefall into terrifying uncertainty. Change can be unbearable.
For the most part, it’s a fantasy, this whole notion that change is within our control. We can no more prevent change than we can prevent our toe nails from growing. And if we think we have constancy, it’s largely a delusion. Certainly there are periods of life in which stability is more abundant—those in which our physical development slows and life assumes a predictable pattern. But even in when the rhythm is familiar, and things today seem just as they did yesterday, imperceptible change still occurs. Our bodies age; our minds simultaneously forget and forge new pathways.
I’d describe my own relationship with change as tepid at best. It’s not that I’m totally averse to it—I replace my toothbrush every few months, and I just cut off the large majority of my hair. But change isn’t like a Caesar salad or a sale at Anthropologie—something I seek out like a diligent bloodhound.
There are some of changes that I just can’t seem to make, even though doing so would clearly be in my own best interest. For example, my daughter gets up between 4:45 and 5:15. Every. Single. Day. This makes me seethe, since the parenting plan that I’d conjured didn’t involve getting up earlier than a rooster. That I am still stuck in this cycle, month piling on top of month, is baffling and frustrating. Thoughts like “This can’t be happening! I can’t believe she’s up so early again!” run laps around my brain. Which is total nonsense, since of course it’s happening—it happened yesterday and the day before and the day before…
And yet. I delude myself into thinking that tomorrow will be different, thinking that maybe she’ll sleep just 10 minutes longer, and then 10 minutes longer the next day, until we get to a more reasonable hour. Like 5:35! Because I can’t shake the sense that I’m entitled to stay up at night to watch American Idol, to spend time with my husband and to read more than two pages of Mary Karr without drooling on my pillow.
Ideally, we’d probably all like to choose what changes and what stays the same. I’d vote to nix the telltale signs of aging, like incontinence and bone loss and neck droop. But I’d support alterations in my wake-up time and welcome growth in the area of compassion—with myself and with others.
Of course it doesn’t work like this. And our efforts to thwart or slow change can result in some pretty ugly things, like using food or alcohol as a way to cope, or surrounding ourselves with those who support our delusions. The only real answer is the most obvious one, and that is acceptance—making the radical and wrenching choice to see and acknowledge what is, without having to contort or mold. For me, this means accepting that reveille, in the form of a toddler’s cry, happens every morning at a near impossible hour.
Acceptance sounds easy. It is not. It may feel like surrendering, when we are not wholly ready to give up the good fight. Frequently, I bear my teeth and snarl at life’s reminders that I’m not in charge, that the parade marches on, whether or not I’m on the float. But living in a fantasy world can only lead to one thing: a rude awakening. And I know all about that.
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How about you? Are you able to welcome change or do you hide under the covers? Any tricks or suggestions for letting go and accepting what is?
P.S. Several people have told me that they are unable to leave comments on this post. If you try to comment and have the same experience, please email me at dana @ drudallweiner dot com.
