Hola Hart Beat. Can you believe it’s already the end of August? On Friday it will be September and even though Summer doesn’t officially end for a few more weeks I can feel it coming. Living in the Berkshires has given me such a connection to nature, something I never truly felt in New York, and every day the air, the trees, the wind, the bugs remind me that times are changing.
Change—something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. The other week in my favorite yoga class, my teacher talked about the idea that our bodies are biologically trained to accept change but that our social construct doesn’t welcome the idea. We don’t freak out when night comes because we know morning is coming right after but it’s our cultural and construction associated with change that gives us anxiety and regrets when we encounter change.
I’ve thought about that idea since she said it to our sangha. For me, this summer has been the cherry on top of this entire last year of freedom and exploration. I’ve never been happier or more fulfilled and it makes me anxious, this change in season. Can this happiness and life continue as the leaves fall, the temperature cools, and the fresh tomatoes in my backyard garden stop producing?
The book I’m writing, the god-damned book, is all about change. It’s about returning to your personhood you might have lost along the way of life. But I’ve been thinking lately, do you really return? Or do you incorporate your old self into your new self while not berating your past person for the time you might have lost or the self you might have pushed away?
People move, relationships progress, friendships ebb and flow, summer ends, fall begins, jobs grow stale, ideas bloom, and so much more—sometimes even all at once. I’ve been trying to embrace the changes and remind myself that it is all okay, that it’s all good even. It’s nature and natural for these things to happen. If we didn’t change what would we even be? Not alive surely and not learning or growing. How boring would that be?
This morning I read through the poem of the day emails I get from The Paris Review and was struck by this one here. It reminds me so much of what I’ve been wrestling with.
by Gerard Malanga
The young girl is unable to change
The form of her habitual thinking,
The posture with which she corresponds to
A feeling of sadness, the flow of her
Thoughts in which she is looking,
The facial expression, and so on;
She forgets herself to remember her pain
In the neck, to remember her problems.
I’ve said this before, remembering myself in the same
Situation until she came
Into my life for the first time
Remembering herself walking out in the open field
Of vision with eyes full of tears and smoke
Slowly coming out of her mouth.
I hope this gives you some comfort, even in just knowing that there’s someone out there who is also thinking about all of this.