It repeatedly astounds me how thoroughly one's life can change in a relatively short amount of time. I have dog-eared, wrinkly-covered, user-softened copies of most of Robert Fulghum's publications lying around. His writing has always touched my sentimental, introspective, people-watching core. In one of his book's he speaks of the heart-stopping changes that can occur in a moment, preempted by a lone sentence such as, "You're fired." "You're hired!" "I'm pregnant." "It's over." Those changes, welcome or not, propel you to turn the corner and take action. They can be extremely joyful, or just as devastating. They can be exciting or terrifying and all can impose a sense of helplessness, of being out of control. These are the changes we fear or anticipate on long drives alone or when our heads finally hit the pillow. These are some of the things I take time to worry about when my gut starts to tingle with idiopathic foreboding.
There is another kind of change, of course; the change we willingly instigate usually precipitated by a cavalcade of needs or occurrences. I changed my life intentionally when I went away to college and when I quit; when I moved back to PA and when I moved to ME; when I went to nursing school and left Massage Therapy school; when I accepted and then called off an engagement; when I accepted another and got married. One of my favorite quotes is by Anais Nin:
"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."~Anais Nin
I am on the precipice of enacting changes right now because what I've been doing for so long just isn't working anymore, but I'm frightened, too, to step out of the comfort zone I've grown so accustomed to even though I know the change is needed now, and the doors are open. I don't know if or when they might open again.