Change...

No question, change is hard; inevitable and hard. It's also radical and subtle. As I age, change has become more the former than the latter. When I was younger, change was sometimes so subtle I barely noticed it. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention. One thing is for certain, change is constant - in varying degrees. 

Perhaps the constancy of change becomes more evident when you have amassed a few years to look back on. Age gives you a bird's eye view of change and this old bird is amazed at what she's seen. If I swoop in on my childhood I see a life in a state of perpetual growth. Every second I was changing, although it didn't seem like that to me. Years seemed to grind by and I was sure I would never turn eighteen. So I jumped that gun and got married at sixteen instead. I had no concept of the permanence of this decision and like most young adults, I was very clever. At least this life-changing event seemed to speed things up a bit. 

My teenaged-self took the adult world by storm; I dropped out of high school, eloped, found full-time employment, cooked, cleaned, got pregnant. Big change. When the baby came, he soon became a toddler, I got a new job, and we moved fourteen times in three years. Busy change. Then the second baby came.  In the blink of an eye she too became a toddler, but by that time her brother was a full-fledged boy; going to school, making new friends, needing me less. Crazy change. By the time his sister was in school he was a pre-teen, writing a girl's name on his sneakers, testing boundaries, letting go of my hand. Sad change. Suddenly, my daughter turned twelve and left her brain on her pillow; cuddled less, challenged more. Hormonal change. Through all this, people came and went from my life, many were born and only a few died. Then my marriage ended and I found myself living alone without my children and the comforts of what I thought was home. This was transition. I was neither here nor there. I was dangling in mid-air from some invisible string; hoping for a soft landing if and when the string broke. Painful change. 

It was while I was hovering in that transitory state that I realized something about myself. I always looked forward to what came next instead of experiencing the present, and in doing so, wished my life away. I missed so much by hurrying things up. Transition gave me the gift of trying to live more consciously in the moment. I say 'trying' because I'm still working on it. Let's face it, I am a work in progress. I am change. 

This past year has brought radical change; my Mom's decline and eventual passing, my husband's career winding down and his retirement, the sale of our home and the purchase of a new one, and soon, the move from Edmonton to Sherwood Park. I was contemplating all this change in a quiet moment while writing a letter to my cousin. I looked around and thought how sad I will feel to see this home emptied of its contents in just two short weeks and how hard it will be to close the door for the last time. I caught myself actually wanting to slow things down; not just live in the moment, but relive moments. I stamped and sealed the envelope, put the halter on the dog, and went out to mail the letter and take a brisk head-clearing stroll. 

I dropped the letter in the mailbox and we headed south down our street toward the walking path. The house at the end of the block sold shortly after ours and the new neighbors were just moving in - the U Haul truck was still parked in the driveway. Zoe and I wandered in that direction thinking we might get a glimpse of the new neighbors. We weren't disappointed. Out from behind the truck came a fellow dressed in baggy grey sweatpants, his billowing muffin-top on display and his chest and shoulders abundantly tattooed. He was stuffing empty boxes behind the fence. It didn't seem the appropriate time to give a 'hey neighbor' greeting so we kept walking. The truck was blocking the sidewalk. We had to walk around it and into the street to continue on our charted course. As soon as we came around the truck a massive pit bull-like canine tethered to a piece of string lunged at us, snarling, growling and gnashing his great-white-shark jaws. I gasped and shouted a dirty brown expletive while Zoe wound herself around my legs several times. We didn't wait to see how long the string would hold or try to pet the nice doggy. We kept moving. 

From the safety of the other side of the fence I had an epiphany; some change is bad, some change is good. Sometimes change is for the best. So I'll start packing, consciously, one box at a time. 

Still standing...