Dealing with change
Change is a guarantee.
I used to make that mean I should mourn the past. Like I had to be sad that my life was going by. I have this micro obsession with time and the idea that I can't hold onto it no matter how hard I try. (And, for the record, I’ve tried really really hard before). It seems to crop up every year around this time: Mother's Day, graduations, another finished school year launching our family into summer. It’s a time that brings into focus the transitions that are a normal part of life for a lot of us. And it’s a happy time, for sure.
Still there’s this nagging pain that comes with turning the page. Damn if I don’t suddenly want to reread the page we were just on, because what if I missed something? Was I really paying attention? Or what about that really good part that happened—will I remember it a year from now? If we’re really getting down to it, what if I don’t like the next page?
Raising kids is the best example I know of this incredible, magical, heartbreaking thing called change. It puts on display at mock speed that given time, nothing stays the same. Our kids grow from completely dependent, dimply rolls of baby fat to free-standing independent humans in the span of just a handful of years. It’s unnerving and miraculous, and if I accept it as reality, then I have to ask: How much time is left? How much more change is coming? Looking these questions square in the face can feel like a trap door suddenly swinging open under me.
When I find myself trapped in that place between the fear of what will be and the longing for what was, it’s a special kind of torture. Like being pushed against my will toward some invisible finish line with the word “death” written across the tape. I want to dig my heels in. Resist. Or at least look the other way. But when I do those things, I only exhaust myself or miss out on the view around me.
Change can feel like a small death when we’re only paying attention to what we think we’re losing. We might go through all the stages of grief before we ever reach acceptance of it. Right away, I can name some changes in my life that dragged me down that road: my transition into high school, moving from our first house, giving away the last of the baby clothes. It’s possible other changes might go that way for me again (cue the kids packing up for college). But what I’ve come to realize, and what I hope is preparing me to handle the many life changes to come with more grace, is that the way I think about change doesn’t have to be built around this idea of loss. It’s poor design, really. The past has never been mine or yours or anyone else’s, so by definition, it can’t be lost. What is it I think I’m losing, then? Familiarity, maybe, lending itself to a false sense of control. This would explain why every time we raise the basketball hoop another few inches for the kids or my dad calls to talk about his will, I feel the sting of life trying to spin out on me. But the beauty is that I never had control, either. So this idea of loss—it’s all based on false perception. Change isn’t taking anything away from me. It’s only inviting me to look at the opportunities that exist for the future. To grow, evolve, and get more from life while I’m here.
Whatever difficult life change you might face, all I can offer in support is this: Let go of the false perception that might be coloring it. No, it may not be the same as it was. But that doesn’t necessarily mean something’s being taken from you or forced on you. Change is rarely the big bad wolf we make it out to be. It’s just a simple invitation to take hold of the only thing that really is ours— now.
