Number 69

Change Is Tough

Transitions in life are inevitable. Perhaps they're not as consistent as the tides, but they do occur with some regularity. Some are good and some are bad. Occasionally they're neutral. But the one thing all transitions have in common is change. Perhaps I'm only describing myself - although I think not - when I say that change is scary. And it doesn't matter if the transitions are the results of life choices you make or the result of unexpected circumstance. It's a big old scary world out there and it's natural to be a little bit fearful when your life throws something "new" at you.

I know, I know. "Really earth shattering stuff there, Nora." However, stating the obvious is not my intent today. I don't wish to write about the 'disease'  of transition. I want to write about its symptoms. Specifically the ways that transitions have a way of bringing out, ummm... 'odd' behavior in people.

Actually that's not entirely true, either. Most of you know the last four years have been stuffed full of significant transitions for my family (daughters Emma and Grace), and me. Plus, in the next few weeks, there are a few whoppers coming up. What I really want to do is tell Grace and Emma about the biggest fight I ever had with my father (The rest of you, if you feel inclined, can follow along.)

Dear E & G,

It was 1988, and it was Memorial Day Weekend. Commencement at Oberlin College was scheduled for Monday morning. Despite the infinite number of dreams I've had to the contrary since then, I was to be among that year's graduating class. A time of celebration, for sure; but also a time of transition. Not just for me, either. It was a time of change for my entire family. Though Oma and Grandpa had divorced 10 years earlier; it had seemed for a long while that they were headed towards a reconciliation. And then... they weren't. As it turned out, my graduation was to be the first family gathering that would include my dad's new wife and her two young children. I think it's fair to conclude that this particular transition was, in that moment, a challenge for everyone.

Here's what happened. The night before graduation, either Dad offered to, or I asked him to buy pizza for me and the small group of friends I lived with. Honestly, I don't remember which, but it doesn't really matter. The seeds for disaster had been planted. A misunderstanding among my friends then occurred. While my intention had been for Dad to treat just my housemates and me; word got out about what was happening to a larger circle of friends. I soon had a variety of friends asking if they were included in the invitation. In that moment, I could either stick to what Dad and I had agreed to, or I could open things up to other folks. I chose my friends.

In the years since, I've considered this choice. Did I want to spend as much time with friends that would soon scatter to the four winds? Perhaps I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Maybe I wanted to stick it to Dad for not getting back together with Mom. The truth can be probably be found somewhere amongst all three reasons. Anyway, when I told my dad what was happening, and that the bill was going to be higher than expected, he exploded, said some choice curse words, and accused me of blackmail and/or manipulation. I exploded back, claiming I felt trapped by the circumstances myself, told him to "fuck it," and told him I would pay for the pizza myself (although I 'm sure I didn't have the necessary funds). In the end he paid, and I got drunk. For what it's worth, by the next morning the storm clouds had drifted away, and the temporary breach in our relationship had healed.

My point is this. Periods of transition don't always show us at our best. It's a good thing to know. It's also a good thing to remember that when the stresses of transition begin flexing particularly strongly, it's a good idea to have empathy, patience, and compassion for all the people around you, including - most importantly - yourself.

Like most "good advice," of course, this is easier said than done. And I'm well aware that I'm skilled at giving advice that I, myself, don't heed. Perhaps what I really intended to do with this particular  blog entry was simply remind myself to pay attention to the things that matter the most: my ineffable love for you, my desire for you to lead content and full lives, and my promise that I will be there for you, always.

Love,

D