How do we feel about change? Especially when it is not what we’ve intended?
Many of us often long for change as an affirmation of the hope we carry that our lives may still transform into something we envision will offer us an even more authentic experience of who we feel ourselves to be. However, taking action that will lead to unforeseen consequences—for better or for worse—is often a heavy lift, requiring uprooting our sense of security and challenging the habit of ourselves. And this is often the best scenario, when we are granted the inspiration to be philosophical and consider the luxury of shifting our position.
What happens when change is thrust upon us, like a shift in the weather that we didn’t see blowing in from the horizon? How can we ground ourselves into the realm of responsive choice when we are at a crossroads that demands decisions be made?
We all carry a sense of continuity--of familiar acceptance of our place in the world--how we assume others value our presence.
How easily our contentment is disturbed when the ground beneath our feet trembles, warning us that what we have and know is no longer static. Who do we become when we must confront the unsettling realization that we are being forced to grow out of our comfort zone?
It’s easy to get stuck in the loop of strategizing and mapping out the options we conceive will alleviate the discomfort of impending change. Since choice is inevitable, how can we connect to the still-point within ourselves, so that we can take action from a place rooted in who we are?
Taking space. Taking space and time to be in nature. Taking space to breathe. Taking space for remembrance of past imposed-change. Taking stock that we have survived and thrived to this very point in time, through multiple past not-knowings.
Perhaps what we choose isn’t as important as the discoveries we make about who we are in this moment. Let us catch our breath and sit in the not-knowing, becoming open to what new animal we may become at this juncture.
