The Paralysis of Change

Change never comes in small doses.  It tends to avalanche onto me in a heap. While I can kick some ass on behavior modification to accommodate the changes, I often don’t fully process the meaning until I’ve had a chance to wear it, then write about it.  It’s as if nothing is real until it's laid out on paper.

I’ve avoided writing at all costs for about two years.  I can’t explain it other than to say that writing - an article, a blog post, or even a journal entry - has felt too personal, too intimate - to attempt.  The lessons ripe for the picking have felt too heavy and numerous to unpack. 

My daughter had a friend sleep over last weekend.  They embarked on watching an old TV series, Nashville, featuring a country music star with two pre-teen daughters that also sing country, but as a duo.  Having loved the show years ago, to the point that I had borrowed a song, A Life That's Good, from one of the episodes to have my daughters sing as a surprise to my wife in our wedding, I sat down to watch the pilot with them.  Experiencing the innocence of those newborn characters again now, while knowing that they later all became jaded with age and experience, hit me like a ton of bricks.  It was like viewing my own naivety of years ago through a crystal ball.  

I told the kids I was retiring to my room to write for a little bit, to which my daughter responded, “Are you a writer Mom?”  which gave validation to the idea that my life had taken a complete transformation over the past few years.

Just a few short years ago, I would have answered Writer to the question “What do you do?” I would have been proud of the fact that I was able to stay home with my kids during their childhood, confident in the continuous ebb and flow of my almost-20-year relationship with my wife, pleased with the home we’d built and our financial security, and supported by my posse of neighborhood mom friends.  

Now I work full-time as a business manager for an industrial design firm.  My kids go to after-school care and bounce back and forth from one parent’s home to another every week.  I live in a small 3rd floor apartment 5 houses down from my ex-wife and I have adjusted to being single for half of every week and a parent and family head the other half.  My support system is scattered around the country with long-term friends and family that have carried me through the best and worst times of my life and a few quality friends here in Chicago that were able to make the transition with me, despite the discomfort.

The commotion of change is palpable.  Even after a year of active grieving and loss, it is still  often impossible to stay focused and self-monitor myself as a parent and good human.  While I have finally settled into my new life without struggle or resentment, I still grapple with Oprah’s idea of forgiveness, which is “giving up the idea that the past could have been any different.”  I own the idea that every decision and action led me to the place I am right now, yet it’s still hard to bask in its novelty.  

I feel as free to explore who I am now as during my teenage years; for that I am grateful.  I hear myself describing myself to new people I meet and often wonder “who is that speaking and who is she talking about?”  I look at new experiences with wonder and excitement.  I think I’m a better parent and person because of these life changes.

But writing, this putting pen to paper and documenting the reality of the moment, is tough.  I keep telling myself I'm just doing a different version of writing....baring the soul through conversations and self-reflective mediation and thought instead of the written word, but I know the gravity of change will not be fully realized until it gets tapped out from my fingers.  

Luckily the art of starting is alive and kicking.  Here I go.

I'll Take Your Pity

I love Craigslist. I've sold lots of things over the years; from baby clothes to unused old toys to crystal vases to a Honda SUV, I've run the gamut with sales prices.  I’ve even used it to give away free stuff in the alley, like moving boxes and unused furniture.  I've also bought lots if things on Craigslist.  Training wheels and patio furniture, chairs and bed frames, it's all the same.  The idea of re-using items instead of buying new at outrageous prices or trashing STUFF to go sit in some landfill just makes so much sense.  Couple that with the thrill of the negotiating, my favorite pastime, even if it’s just over five dollars, and Craigslist is a dream come true for me!

Yesterday I was chasing down faux Tiffany lamps on Craigslist, as we recently painted our living room, and the result was a gorgeous hue of rich green that contrasted beautifully with the dark woodwork, but reduced the lighting to dungeon-status.  I emailed back and forth with a woman in the city over a set of Tiffany-inspired lamps.  I inquired about the height, the working order, and the brightness of the light output.  We did not talk about price, but I knew I wanted to buy the lamps, so I was prepared to pay the full list price of $50 apiece, but as always, would be ready to bargain.

We arranged a time for me to come to her home.  I told her I’d have my kid, so as to prepare her for a child in her house.  I was at least ten minutes late and as I pulled up to the huge Victorian home where she lived in my dirty ’98 Camry, toting a 4-year-old clad in an unzipped coat without hat and mittens, despite the fact that it was windy and fifteen degrees outside with spitting snow, she met me at the front door and welcomed us inside.

We worked our way upstairs to the room where the lamps were located, and she flipped on the bulbs.

“I love them!” I gushed.  “Is it $50 for both lamps or $50 apiece?” I inquired.

“Oh, it’s $50 for them both,” she answered, “and I’ll be happy to give them to you for $40,” she uncomfortably stammered, as she avoided eye-contact with me.

I was shocked!  I’d never had anyone so quickly offer a discount, unless there was an obvious deformity in the item or urgency to unload the merchandise, which didn’t seem like the case here.  

“I’ll take them,” I gushed and counted out $40 in ones, pulled from a roll of cash in my coat pocket.   

As we worked our way down the stairs with the lamps, I glanced at my 4-year-old with strawberry yogurt crusted on her mouth and her shoes on the wrong feet.  I looked down at my own painting pants I hadn’t bothered to change out of since yesterday, and I brushed my cheek against my Village Discount H&M winter coat purchased three winters ago for $6 with the screwed up zipper.  I scratched my itchy scalp which was disguised underneath a tightly haphazard ponytail and gazed out at the car while carrying the lamps, studying the gashes in the paint on the back bumper.  I subconsciously noted to myself that by the time another fifty parallel parks have been executed, the entire bumper would be void of any color at all.

By the time I’d made two trips to the car with my toddler in tow and lamps in hand, I realized that I had gotten a pity discount.  I laughed out loud at the thought of the sight of my daughter and I pulling up to this big house loaded with room after room of furniture and antiques and I lovingly patted the roll of bills I’d saved because of our appearance, still occupying my coat pocket.  

For a sick moment, I apologetically thought about working this new angle of a scruffy getup from here on out while Craigslist shopping, then again laughed at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.  My stained-glass lamps look amazing in the newly decorated living room and no one has to know about my pity discount.  I have a feeling the funny story will make its way out though!

Change Is Good

For the past few months, I’ve been trying to prepare my kids for the upcoming changes.  A new house, a new street, new neighbors, new route to school, new piano teacher, and some new friends.  I’ve tried not to bonk them over the head with the obvious that change is hard but needed, but instead just given them little reminders from time to time that nothing is permanent.

They’ve been pretty good about my little interjections of reality. 

“Yah, Mom, I got it,” when I prompted my older daughter to give her new address when her teacher asked her where she lived during open house.  “Come look at my project”

“I already know that, Little Mama,” my younger daughter reminded me when I tried to initiate a playground conversation about how the new house will still hold the same things we own.  “Now watch me swing on the bars.”

When they did acknowledge the upcoming adjustment, the girls have been very forthcoming in their feelings about change:  It’s hard, but good. 

“I know we’re going to love our new house, but I’m really going to miss this one,” the older one said on more than one occasion leading up to our move.  “I can’t wait to move next door to Emily, but I’m sad that we’re moving further away from Rosie.”

Me too.

“I can’t wait to have a playroom, Mama!” shouted the little one, “but I don’t want to move away from the park and school where we can see Sissy come home from school every day when we look out the window.”

Ditto.

Each time a member of my family has mentioned the upcoming changes, whether positive or negative in scope, I’ve allotted the appropriate time for consideration, commiserated with the notion, then put an optimistic spin on the change.

I’ve given so many positive reinforcements that I honestly don’t even realize it when I’m doing it anymore. 

“Oh, girls, won’t it be great to be able to paint your room, as we no longer have an apartment!”

“Can you wait to have a basement that doesn’t leak and flood?”

“Just think how great it will to have room for family to stay when they visit!”

After a few weeks of repetitively listing the benefits of buying a home and moving, I came to realize that it’s not my girls who needed the convincing that change is good.  It’s me.  I was totally trying to convince myself that it was going to be okay!  The girls just want to be happy and healthy and loved.  It’s me who wants the convenience of being close to the school and resists change, even when it’s small.  After all, we moved two blocks away!

Having occupied our new home for a whopping week and a half already, I was expecting to be 100% sold on our migration.  I find, though, that I’m still weening myself off the subconscious confirmations I give myself every time a mention of new home comes up.  Instead of feeling the zen of owning our own place and basking in the awesomeness of its existence, I’m still convincing myself that change is good.

It really has nothing to do with the positive or negatives of one home versus the other.  It’s just the mere idea of change.  It’s the idea that nothing is the same anymore.  New habits have formed and old routines have been broken.  Order has been abandoned and manageable chaos has ensued.  Known responses have been replaced with unfamiliar reactions, and my dog-run familiarity with my surroundings has been usurped by this mysterious environment.

I’m being forced to learn new things about my home, my environment, and myself. I love to learn, but learning is nerve-wracking, because you can’t learn unless you come to terms with the fact that you don’t have all the answers. 

The only answer I do have is that by continuing to “comfort” my kids with my encouraging words about flux, I’m continuously reminding myself that change is good.  I wholeheartedly agree with Bruce Barton when he said, “When you are through changing, you are through.”  I’m not done yet, so I better get on with getting on!

Give It To Me

I did not want to get up.  I woke up before the alarm went off at 5:30am and couldn’t get back to sleep.  Instead of fighting the telltale sign that it was time to get up by justifying to myself that I could use another 30 minutes of sleep and then spending the time stressing out about the number of tasks I had to complete in the next few hours or tomorrow or this week, l tiptoed out of bed and grabbed my workout gear.  

With extra time before I had to meet my workout buddy, I did some stretching and core work to loosen up.  With no one else awake, I left most of lights off in our tiny little apartment, and I didn’t make a peep, so as not to disturb anyone.  With only the quiet to keep me company, I let my mind drift away from responsibilities and deadlines and have-to’s, until it settled on vast nothingness.  For ten minutes, I lost track of time and don’t remember anything, even the exercises I was completing.  Then slowly I became cognizant of my breathing, my muscles, and eventually my strength.  I took a few minutes to just be, then jumped up and popped out the door, weights and boombox in hand, ready to face up to some serious kickboxing.

My friend arrived at our scheduled pre-dawn workout time, but before I could even hit the play button, she let loose on my simple ‘how are you’ question with a real answer, “I’m not very good.”

We took a minute and talked through the personal issues that were stressing her out this morning.  She said it felt better just to acknowledge it in front of someone else.  Agreed.

Once the club music was pumping through our veins, and the ears of the neighbors, as we work out open-air on the school lawn before the day begins, we continued talking about life’s and ups and downs, all while sweating our tails off.  Squat.  Elderly parents.  Lunge.  Moving and packing.  Punch.  Middle school nightmares.  Kick.  Flu-bugs and fevers.  Crunch.  Job searches and losses.  Lift.  Exes and partners.  We carried on in that fashion until the sun rose high into the morning sky, quenching us with much-needed brightness.

One hour was all it took.  1/24 of the day devoted to my body and soul.  The difference that hour makes in my day is colossal.  I came home in a good mood.  Instead of the normal stress spilling out between each word I spoke to my family, today’s conversation at breakfast was easy and genuine.  Instead of rushing around the house and warning the girls to hurry up, I actually took a few minute to help them get ready, even though they’re old enough to do it on their own.  The few extra minutes spent with them was a welcome treat.  By making time for the needed physical workout this morning, I inadvertently made time for the rest of my life.

I felt genuine gratitude and appreciation toward my partner for pitching in to help with lunches and meal-planning, as opposed to criticism for not doing things the way I do.  I walked out the door with my youngest over an hour early for preschool.  We did a drive-by of the park, but with no kids there yet, we hit the local coffee house for a “special coffee” for her of steamed milk.  You would have thought I had asked Santa to come a second time this year for how happy my little one was for a treat outside of the daily routine.

“Thank you so much, Mama,” she beamed at my from the back seat from behind her whipped cream mustache.  “I can’t wait to go to school early to play at the park with you!”

With an extra 40 minutes on hand and not a child in site, my daughter and I ran and played and hid and chased until we were exhausted.  She loves babies and a young dad showed up with his barely-walking baby, who became a fast playmate of my sweet pea.  I had a 15-minute conversation with the baby’s father, who now is no longer a complete stranger from the park.  OF COURSE he works at Trader Joe’s….he was so nice!

I headed to work and took time to call my mom, which never seems to make it into the schedule, as there’s never time to just open up and talk.  Again, by taking the time to take care of myself this morning, I opened myself up to taking care, or at least notice, of other people.  Work blew by without issue or stress, but instead with a compliment out of the blue from my co-worker about how easy-breezy and productive I was today.  I instantly got a glimpse of my youngest daughter’s joyful ear-to-ear smile at the park this morning.  Today is the gift that keeps on giving!

Before I left work, I got an email from my girlfriend telling me what a pleasure my mood was this morning and how it helped change the outlook on her whole day from ‘have to go to work even though I’m sick and can’t talk’ to ‘I can do it today.  I’m going to be fine.’

I could go on and on with examples from the rest of my day, or from other days where I’ve set aside time to attend to my body and spirit.  The list goes on and on.  When I foster my personal betterment, I am better prepared to both receive and nurture the essence of those around me.  It’s a win-win for everyone.  Conversely, when I erroneously decide I don’t have enough time to take care of myself, it all goes down the shitter.

I challenge you to give yourself whatever it is that you need tonight or tomorrow morning:  a moment of meditation, fifteen minutes of quiet time, a half-hour of running, an hour of prayer, a morning of reading the cherished tabloids, or ___________.  Stay up late or get up early, but exercise your ability to make your own day, week, or life.  Feed your own soul and in return, you will feel good about contributing to the potency of others.

Changing Gears

The best laid plans sometimes need to be amended.  You plan on taking the bus, but you’re running behind, so you have to grab a cab.  You plan on paying cash for a large purchase, but you don’t have enough “change” to cover the sales tax, so you put it on your card.  You order the sushi special, but it’s sold out, so you settle for a California Roll.  No brainers, right?

Even though I pride myself on my ability to roll with the punches of most situations, the reality is that it’s really hard to change courses on the fly sometimes.  I do well through the decision-making part, as I’m a doer….when things need to get done, I do them.  But then I inevitability immediately mourn the change of plans afterwards.  It’s a vicious cycle that needs to stop.

The entire cab ride is spent silently lamenting the fact that I’m wasting money on a nausea-inducing cab ride all because I decided to flat-iron my hair at the last minute.  The second the debit card is swiped at Target, I kick myself for not grabbing the two extra $20’s that were sitting on the table, as now I’m going to have to make two more stops at home and the bank to even up the accounts.  I have buyer’s remorse the second the waiter leaves the table, as I ALWAYS order the California roll.  Can’t I possibly come up with something I’ve never tried before?

Over the years I’ve gotten better at hiding my agitation at last-minute changes.  I still complain in my head, but I try not to talk about it out loud.  I think if I don’t talk about my compulsive thoughts, they don’t really exist.  They do exist, though, and my face always is a dead giveaway.  The people who know me well can see the wheels turning every time I suddenly alter a plan.  The saving grace is that the pace of our lives is so swift that I don’t have time to linger on the duress because I’m forced to immediately move on to the next topic or decision that’s thrown my way.

Over the weekend, I asked my eldest daughter to take a run with me.  I was desperate for some exercise to clear my head and I knew her mood could use a reboot as well.  She unenthusiastically suited up in her pink running shirt and patterned shorts and moodily met me at the door.  Before we had a chance to lace up our shoes, her friend came to the door to get her bike that was left at our house the day before.  The friend was swimsuit-clad and ready to ride her bike to the neighboring block party we planned on attending later in the day.  Knowing my daughter’s spirit was more likely to be lifted from the waterslide than with our jog and balancing that against my selfish yearning for a few minutes to myself void of conflict with my nine-year-old, I changed gears.  The running clothing was donned for a swimsuit and the bikes were brought out of the garage to the front.  My daughter went on to the party with her friend and I grabbed my music for my solo exercise session.

Not two seconds after the front door shut, I started bullying myself over the change of plans:  my child needed the exercise and it would have set the tone for her day; I gave up the cherished one-on-one time with my child in exchange for some solitude; there’s no need to go to the block party this early in the morning; who’s going to watch her while I’m not there?

I took my grief on the road and headed to the kitchen, where my girlfriend took one look at me and without even asking what I was thinking, said, “Get over it and go on your run!”

I wanted so badly to review the negative implications of the modified schedule with her, but she shooed me out the door, where my anxiety melted away with the first pop lyric that screamed out of my ear buds:  I think I’ve finally had enough, I think I maybe think too much…my head is spinning so blow me one last kiss.  P!nk always says just the right think at the just the right time!

Here’s the gig:  with life coming at us so fast, our maps inevitably change at a moment’s notice.  We can plan and prepare and primp for what we think will happen in the days, weeks, and months ahead, but ultimately we never know exactly how things will pan out.  The only thing we can be certain of is that things will change.  If you can roll with change, you’re as prepared for life as you can be.