Today marks a year since something big changed for me.
Actually, a lot of days are like that, really. So much has changed since I graduated, now almost 2 years ago. Even in the last year, there’s been so much change. So much growth.
I used to dread change. When I was twelve, I recall journaling about how much I hated it when things and people changed. But how little I knew then.
One of the characters in the play I’m writing tells the protagonist that he plants new flowers every year. The flowers change every spring. They both grumble and gripe about changes throughout the play, but by the end they concur that change is good, otherwise there’d be no variety and possibly no flowers.
That’s how I see it now. Change leads to beauty. Greater beauty. Greater life, even.
But growing up is so weird. Because you can’t see it coming, no matter how hard you look or how big your imagination might be. The days ahead in my mind are still blank calendar squares with only words, at the very most, of what that day might ensue. I find that I can often imagine what I might do on a day, but when I think of what I might learn, it is impossible. I suppose that’s why I have to learn it.
And growing up is weird because there’s just some ways in which I stay young forever. There are some ways in which we never really grow up because we never stop learning.
And the feeling of growing up is strangest when I look back on all the things I’ve done and seen and changed from and wonder where the time has gone.
Two years ago, I was completely unaware of who I was and what I wanted. I lacked in specificity and I believed lies. One year ago, I saw that lack of awareness and specificity and all of those lies and wanted to change. Today, I’m different–not perfect–but I’ve grown to embrace more of those traits that I wanted so desperately last year.
Why am I writing these words? Perhaps you think that this post seems to have no flow or point or purpose.
Perhaps I’m writing it for me more than for you. Perhaps I’m writing just because it’s good to write and it’s beautiful to recall.
Perhaps because I have to write.
I’ve always had to write, it would seem. One of my first ambitions was to be a writer. As a little girl, hearing The Little House on The Prairie novels by Laura Ingalls Wilder, I dreamed of having thick books with glossy covers that held my name at the bottom. I used to cherish my time in bed before falling into slumber. I’d write stories in my head except I’d say them aloud in silent whispers to account for my lack of paper.
And now I’m writing a play. I think I told you that a few paragraphs back. I never thought I’d be a playwright back then as a six-year-old and maybe I’ll never be a very good one — the writing and revising process isn’t easy.
And there’s so many things I never thought I’d do or be or see or realize. So many things I said I wouldn’t. So many things I said I couldn’t. So many things I just never had the imagination to think of.
And I’ve been learning that what you say you won’t do, you likely will do anyway; the things you say you can’t, you actually can do, if you take the ‘not’ out of the phrase, and your imagination will never hold the beauty that in reality, God’s plans hold for you.
Because God has a sense of humour, He is persistent, and He knows how to create beauty that is beyond beauty itself.
So Friends, I’m embracing change, at 10 PM on a Sunday night, a week and a half away from the end of my semester, when I should really be getting ready for bed.
But I can’t go to bed. Not yet. Because there’s so much to write and read and think about. (And also cinnamon buns to eat momentarily… )
These are my ramblings of today. You never can tell what tomorrow will hold though.
This is what growing up looks like for me.
How have you experienced change lately?