The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, “Change is the only constant in life.”
Far be it from me to argue with an ancient Greek philosopher, but I’d put politicians talking out both sides of their mouths and getting spam email after you’ve signed up for something on the list of constants.
But to his point: Yes, change is a-happenin’ all the time. Heraclitus also had a paradoxical communication style and was totally into wordplay, so we’re giving him full credit.
Change is on my mind quite a bit lately. It seems that everywhere I turn, one thing or another is starting to be different, and it’s occurring in a way that makes me stop and take notice. Like the spider lilies in the photo. They’re in bloom now, but in a few weeks the flowers will fade. This is a prime example of change I don’t like. I like the flowers. I want to see them all the time.
I chalk it up mostly to some recent choices I’ve made – and some of this I talked about in last week’s post – because choices usually lead to changes (not always, though: choosing to keep doing what you’re doing is still a choice), and sometimes those changes are horribly jarring, and I have to stop and get my bearings.
Why I tend to react that way to change is a mystery. Change happens so much and so often, you’d think I’d roll right along with it by now.
How much has change happened to me? Let us count the ways:
Over the course of my life, I’ve changed everything from schools, jobs, and churches to my address, cars, and passwords.
I deal with it daily with things like changing my clothes, my mind, and what I thought we were having for dinner.
Change in my life has run the gamut from rearranging our TV viewing schedule to leaving behind people I thought were my friends to reallocating time to focus on new priorities.
And those are just some of the changes I’ve personally made. I have an entire history of changes that were thrust on me without any foreknowledge or express written consent (which is my preferred way of dealing with change).
And that brings us right up to this week, where we get to experience a changing of the seasons on Wednesday. That’s right, the summer solstice is upon us, and that means hot, sticky, humid weather and, because I live in “hurricane alley,” one eye on the tropics at all times.
This is no sudden, jarring change. I’ve had plenty of notice – written notice, even. It’s right there on the calendar. Spring is giving way to summer, which will morph into autumn, which will allow winter to take over, and then spring will come alive again, and so it goes, round and round.
I don’t like the seasons to change; I want it to be autumn all the time. And the only conclusion to that statement is how fortunate we are that I am not in charge of nature.
If nothing else, the changing of the seasons reminds us of the constant of change. Just like Heraclitus said. We can no more hold back spring moving into summer than we could expect that I’ll never buy another car. One day the days will get cooler and autumn will be here (finally!) and I will get a new phone and will have to learn all over again how to upload apps. The nip in the air will get bitter cold and I will meet new people and “friends” who were untrustworthy will fade from my memory. The temperatures will warm up and the freezes will thaw and my priorities shift just enough to clear my path and I’ll find a new wine bar where my friend and I can meet to talk about writing (another constant).
The seasons are marvelous teachers, with their singular lesson plan of Change Is Good. And Heraclitus was right: It is constant. Like the north star. The best we can do is fix our compass and ride it out.
Go Write Right Now 