In the name of change
Why is change so scary when it is supposed to be exciting and healthy
I never believed in sudden change since my whole system of beliefs revolves around cumulative and progressive steps that lead to a solid outcome, to a fact. The rules of nature, the rules of science, the rules of life. I never expected that events would shape so promptly that change would be tangible and almost painful. It seems though that at certain junctions in life, and even if you fight it with all what you have and what you know, change will hit. It seems that even some medical outcomes follow a very timely fashion in a very short constant period, to the extent where you almost see the change and feel it and can even time it. It seems that age does matter and I’m not sure if it is our inbuilt social and psychological perception of age that dictates how our behavior should reflect our age or if it is the other way around, but it’s there. Denial is there too, so is fear. This new road I call the road home, my new operating system, a new culture, my sister’s new hair color, a new job, a new emotion ... Life will not stand still for me, not for a second, and why should it? We live … we die … everything in between is changing as we are evolving. At every junction, you embrace a new role, a new pattern of behavior and you pass your old craziness and irresponsibility and need for adventure down, to new minds, to new hearts.
I heard a couple of young students talking in the hall,
- I think working abroad is much better than here. At least you’d feel you’re working towards something.
- But it’s far from family and friends
- Yes but you have to compromise …….. blah blah ….
Right. That conversation.
Even when I am not a mere observer and I am asked to be part of that conversation,
… So how was it for you? Why did you come back? Why did you leave in the first place? Did you cry at first? Did you miss it here?
I either feel too exhausted to talk about living away, too hurt that I am assumed to be done with it, or unworthy to answer since I ended up not knowing anything anyway.
Right now I seem to be stuck in between two eras. I have not grown into the stiffness I need to acquire to be accepted as an adult and I cannot keep up with the kids anymore. It is true. It happened! I cannot keep up …
I want to come home after a long day at work. I cannot keep all the names of the pubs in Jemmayzeh straight. I cannot wear high heels to work. My body did change and I cannot wear that skirt anymore.
That skirt …
Damn I looked good in that skirt. You know what skirt … The one you can’t wear anymore because now you actually weigh something. Because your metabolism every five years gets closer to that of a polar bear. That skirt that made him chase you (if you think this is dull, you obviously did not have that skirt).
I have replaced clubbing most of the nights with quiet evenings at home most of the nights and I have tucked that skirt in the back of my closet forever.
I have not grown into a prude yet. I am resentful when I see the young girls prancing around in their skirts. This has to be a good sign.
They look good though, in their skirts, dolled up for their guys, all fresh and loud and in your face, dropping their Martinis after a couple of glasses, and I look good, with my shy hair cut and my overstuffed purse.
Not quite the suitcase yet, not over denim yet … I still do cuffed trousers with pumas.
Maybe even the most tangible the most scary change is only a small step forward, maybe it is gentle after all, it is progressive, it is cumulative … like nature should be, like my shy hair cut, not quite the shaved head, not quite the up do.
Life will not stand still. Not for me, not for anyone. We have to keep going forward and better do it while loving the new operating systems, loving the new generation and while gracefully smiling.
The freckles that add up on my face at the first sun ray and hide back all winter, leave a new one every year. A new constant one. One that I lose track of anyway the next summer. One that reminds me to wait for the summer, all winter long.
Those smiling lines that are increasing, only increase because we have more smiles under our sleeves, those hips are wider because they loved more and those eyes deeper with the weight of all the blissful days in the backs of our minds.
I love my freckles, but that skirt will stay in my closet … For warmer days anyway, behind the doors, maybe, for him ... It will always fit ...