The Ugly Side of Change

Watching people go through change, cope with changes they choose, and the changes they don’t choose, is fascinating. Watching myself go through the same change is not so much fascinating as painful, and unwanted.

I’m here to support you as you go through these things, but I would rather not go through them myself, if that’s okay.

I’ve been in this world long enough to know that change is like the ocean: it buffets the shore, carries turmoil and wind from afar, is easy to drown in or become lost on, and is no good for drinking, no matter how parched you are.

But the ocean is more than this.

The ocean provides the rain that will nourish the land, it is stunningly beautiful and breathtaking, and is a place, when understood, that can be used to enhance life. Sailors, surfers, deep sea divers; these are all remarkable people who have learned how to partner with the unpredictable nature of this wild place.

I remember being dumped by a heavy surf. Having braved an afternoon with friends, wearing a bikini to impress a boy, we girls ran into the building swell. I turned to check if said boy was watching and found myself tumbling breathlessly into the sand. I couldn’t quite make out which way was up. On finding my feet, I stood to escape the turmoil making sure to wrap my arms around my chest—I couldn’t quite tell if I had lost my newly purchased bikini top. I staggered out of the waves to find my crush and his friends laughing heartily, bikini top, thankfully, still in place.

I did not go back in. Not that day. Not any day since then.

Big waves frighten me. The ocean frightens me. But at the same time, I am drawn to it. To the horizon line, to the birds, the boats, the sand, the water. The freedom. The wildness.

Death is the ugly side of the ocean. Merciless water stealing the breath of those unprepared for what can happen. Too many have become part of this wilderness.

Change is built on a foundation of loss. This is the ugly side. The literal death. The metaphorical death. Change requires that something be lost in order for something to be found.

Even happy change includes loss. You marry and create a family, just as you dreamed you would, and you lose independence, a certain selfishness, and privacy. I married young so the thing I missed the most in those early days was my old room. I don’t miss it anymore, but I did for a while, and it was part of adjusting to a new stage in my life.

I watch myself resist giving up things—beliefs, habits, possessions, friends—for fear that I will never have the same again. It is as if I am digging in wet sand, filling the hole with the water I have carried up the shore, and am now protecting this hand-made dam so that the ocean cannot claim that which is hers.

It is ugly, the fight to hold onto something that should be let go of. You can build up the sand, but the tide will inevitably institute the change, no matter what you do.

Am I advocating passivity? Not at all.

Fight for that which needs to be fought for. Let go of that which, by holding too tightly, you are harming yourself with.

Yes, it is all well and good for me to say ‘let go’. I don’t know your circumstances, your fears, or your past. What I do know is this: letting go of something brings with it the space for something new.

While you could apply what I am saying to relationships, I’m not particularly thinking in that way. I am considering, more, the peace that comes from freeing yourself from the burden of the past, the burden of other people’s expectations, and the burden of having to please others who, and this is the truth, may never be pleased.

Perhaps it is worth giving up your expectations of yourself, too.

Change will come. Sometimes it will be that gentle rhythm of lapping water on a warm summer afternoon. Sometimes it will be a winter super-storm carrying the shore away. Resisting this is futile.

Remember that the ocean also brings fresh rain, renewal, and beauty. Embrace the beauty of change.

It won’t be easy, and it might take time.

I am yet to see the beauty in my friend’s untimely death. Yet to see how this change, that I have no control over whatsoever, is going to rain down on our lives in a way that nurtures and refreshes. Perhaps this is because I have been thinking about how I would like to talk to him about life, and how he made me feel better about things. I am aware of what I am missing out on, and in pain, because I am focused on myself.

Not being able to talk with him is one of the reasons I am here on this blog, talking to you. He isn’t here to ponder life with me, to reflect on our shared past or our separate futures, but you are.

Do you hear that?

I believe it’s beginning to rain.