Small Change
“Change is the only constant.” Some maxims become commonplace because they’re exquisitely true. Each generation discovers this one anew. Each individual rediscovers its meaning every decade or so at first, then every year, then every day. I’m in the every day stage.
The changes I experience could be overwhelming if I didn’t also experience curiosity every day. Aha! A change! What caused it? What may come of it? Does it symbolize something greater? Does it bespeak something tiny? Is this expression of meaning poetic or straightforward, portentous or place-marker? Finally the questions I always ask: Compared to what? and So what?
As I reflect upon how my thinking about life has changed with age, I realize that about life, it hasn’t. About living, it has indeed. The thing about living is: it’s a verb. You think about it while doing it. The path unfolds as you walk it, each decision changing the path as you create it with each step. Changes come from internalia as well as externalia. Change doesn’t only happen to you. It also happens because of you.
So every day as I notice changes around me, I exercise my curiosity, first, about how much of that change occurred through my agency — my living — and how much through other forces — human intention, natural processes, pure chance. Which forces, and how do they work? Then I become curious about how well my influence, if any, turned out and whether I want to change it. Is this change heading in the direction of my goal? If yes, do I want to accelerate that progress if possible? If no, what can I do to improve the process? Or perhaps change my goal?
I have a large garden, so I notice plenty of change every day, up close. I live in central Florida, where some shrubs are already blooming in early February and the potted tomatoes, bell peppers, and parsley I bought as seedlings eight weeks ago are bearing fruit. After eight more weeks of watering, fertilizing, and pruning, my salads and sauces will taste wonderful for the two months of bearing before the weather becomes too hot, and I have to compost everything into the garden soil. I do not kid myself about the relative influence of my living and nature’s processing. In the garden, I am the sorcerer’s apprentice. My job is to support nature doing what it does. I benefit, and nature … well, nature recycles.
Small change every day may yield large changes after time. As in the garden, so in the body. I have, maybe, a bit more agency there. I have to make many choices every day, some routine — food, exercise, interacting with friends — and others new, and a few surprising. Everyone has always had to decide what to eat and whether to cook at home or order take-out or eat at a restaurant. (If they’re lucky, I know. Too many people have no choice and too few resources to carry out the only choice they do have.) Now, in early February 2021, everyone also has to decide how to address the risks of going to the market or to the restaurant. A pandemic has complicated that equation, and, while change remains a constant of which we’re sharply aware, the equation has many variables that also change over time.
One way I look at living now is to appreciate the small change — those that are good and even the bad ones about which I can do some small thing. And when I exercise my curiosity about what I can do about what I want to do, I discovered the balm of going easy on myself if I can’t do as much of what I want or do it as fast as I want. I am content with small change.
