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.

That Mom

I never would have pegged myself as ‘that mom.’  You know the likes of her.  She camps out overnight outside the preschool on the eve of sign up to make sure her kid gets in for the fall season.  She works three devices simultaneously, each cued up and ready to ‘add to cart’ from her Wish List at 9am when the online spring sports registration opens up for the park district.  Or in my case, she shows up two hours early at the rink to ensure her 4-year-old a spot in Winter Tot Ice Skating.

I don’t know how I morphed into the person I’m describing, but it happened without my conscious intention, that’s for sure, as I’m usually the one mocking the over-the-top mothers who go to great lengths to get their kids in pole position.  Yet here I stand with my registration sheet in hand and instructions on the best way to fit my toddler into skates, having scored the last available spot in the class for my kid.

As I sat in assigned spot number 57 among the folding chairs lined up like stadium seating surrounding the check-out desk at the ice rink, I looked around at the other people in line and wondered if they’d always been ‘that person’ that I had clearly become.  Some I recognized, and knew from first-hand experience that without a doubt, they were in it to win it.  Others I studied and tried to figure out their story.  I asked one parent in front of me if she’d ever done this line-up before for an activity for her child, and like me, she said this was a first.  She seemed pretty comfortable in the scenario, and that, coupled with the demure daughter who saddled up next to her whose actions in no way resembled those of Veruca Salt, made me settle more easily into the new role.  

I guess it’s a good lesson for all of us vocal folks who are not shy about adding our two cent’s worth to any discussion involving parenting.  You never know where you’ll end up on issues or whose shoes you’ll end up walking in.  Whether it’s parenting, politicking, doping, or diversifying your funds, your views change over time as you acquire more knowledge and experience more of what life has to offer.

“If it were me, I’d just tell my kid no,” I remember telling another parent a few years ago when my older daughter’s friend’s parents were spending thousands of dollars on competitive cheer for their 5-year-old, while complaining about the expense.

Years later, I may be on the other side of the conversation.  If there’s one thing I know, it’s that change is inevitable.  Situations change.  People change.  Viewpoints change.  As a conscientious people, we evolve constantly.  

Recognizing this point allows me to feel comfortable voicing my strong opinions, whether right or wrong, without worrying too much about backlash from others, because I truly believe we’re all in this together.  My audience of peers, parents, and pipsqueak kids is experiencing the same thing I am.  They’re working their way through situations and events, developing their often-changing opinions as they go.  Nothing ever has to be set in stone.  Yesterday Justin Beiber had the best music on the planet and today Rihanna is the only artist who matters.  Similarly, today I argue the negative example it sets for our kids when parents keep kids home on standardized testing days because they don’t find value in the concept of standardized testing.  Yet next year I may end up keeping my own kids home because of opinions formed while discussing the issue to death this year.  

The point is, for those of us that have or voice opinions on ANYTHING to others, it’s hard to model a moment in time where you’ll think differently down the road.  Yet there’s that little warning signal in the back of our minds, poised and ready to ding when we get so absolute, as we know subconsciously as humans, we will one day change.  It may be an opinion, a hairstyle, a career path, or a station in life, but there is no way of avoiding movement.  So next time you throw out your input on something, do it with gusto.  Make your case, stick to your guns, and bear down on your audience.  Be bold!  But know that as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, at some point you will hold different priorities, opinions, and sticking points than you do today.  Be prepared to eat your words and see how the other half lives.  Be prepared to be ‘that mom.’

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!