On Accepting Impermanence

A few weeks ago, I made a deal with myself. I decided I would see my nieces every two months, rain or shine, deadlines or no deadlines. And so I called up my sister, made a dinner date, and put reminders on my calendar. I also blogged about it, since when I tell everyone I know what I am going to do, I am exponentially more likely to do it.

I basked in my sense of self-efficacy and anticipatory pleasure. And then, over breakfast with my brother, I discovered that my sister was moving to Phoenix.

Phoenix.

Not exactly a place I can drop in on a whim. I was disappointed that she was moving, that I wouldn’t be able to watch my nieces grow up, that I wouldn’t be able to watch the drama that is high school unfold. And I was in grief. I cried in the acupuncture chair and felt the feelings, in good social-worker fashion. You wouldn’t think it would hit me that hard: after all, I haven’t seen my sister or nieces in months. But there it was. I was feeling the edges of the sadness that comes with knowing you won’t be seeing people you love, and with unmet expectations of closer relationships.

Jon Kabat-Zinn wrote in Full Catastrophe Living, “whether we like it or not, impermanence is in the very nature of things and relationships.” Never my favorite reminder, frankly.

But it’s true, and true is more important than whether I like impermanence. My attachment to “the way things are” belies the fundamental truth: people, places, and things are impermanent.

We are all in our own constellation of activity and momentum. It’s inevitable that we ping off in other directions. I’ve done it myself. I was “definitely” planning on a PhD in Gender Studies before I came to social work. And I was “definitely” getting an MSW before veering toward social entrepreneurship. I was “definitely” in love with my ex. At each of those times, I was certain that those paths were permanent.

And then, they weren’t.