You Survived the Last Change, Too

Comfort has a way of making us forget how unfamiliar life once felt.

It's funny how quickly we forget.

Not necessarily the facts.

We remember starting the new job, moving into the new home, ending one relationship or beginning another.

We remember taking the risk, making the decision, walking into an unfamiliar room and wondering what we had gotten ourselves into.

What we tend to forget is how uncomfortable it all felt before it became normal.

There was a time when the job you now know how to do required you to ask questions all day.

The route you drive without thinking once required GPS.

The person you can sit beside in comfortable silence was once someone you were still learning.

There was a time when some part of the life you're living right now was completely new to you.

Then, somewhere along the way, unfamiliar became familiar. You adjusted, learned, figured things out and eventually got comfortable.

And then life had the audacity to change again.

Here We Go Again

The circumstances may be different, but the ability to adapt isn't new.

I'm currently in a season with a lot of change happening at the same time.

About two and a half months ago, I started a new job in an industry I'd never worked in before, supporting an executive I'd never met in person.

There were new systems to learn, new personalities to understand, new responsibilities to master, and a completely different way of doing business.

Oh, and it came with the largest salary I've ever earned.

You would think exciting change wouldn't feel unsettling, but it can.

Sometimes getting what you've worked for still requires you to become someone capable of carrying it.

Now, while I'm still getting settled professionally, I'm preparing for another major first.

I'm moving in with my penguin partner. My person.

I've never lived with a partner before, and I believe with my whole heart that destiny brought the two of us back together. He's my forever.

How we got here is another story for another day.

For now, getting here means another round of change.

I'll be leaving my 18-year home in the heart of Chicago and moving to a city outside of it that, until now, I've pretty much only associated with going to an amusement park.

I'll be learning a new area while adjusting to sharing a home, routines, responsibilities, decisions, and everyday life.

It's exciting. It's beautiful. It's compromise. It's sacrifice.

And it's change.

At the same time, I've been working through another transition that doesn't require a moving truck, a new address, or an onboarding process.

This one requires me to change something within myself.

Sometimes Growth Means Putting Something Down

Sometimes growth looks like realizing, “Yeah...I’m not doing that anymore.”

I've spent a lot of my life putting on the cape for people I love.

When there's a problem, I immediately start thinking about what I can do. If someone needs money, maybe I can help. If something has gone wrong, my instinct is to figure out how to fix it.

But I've had to acknowledge something uncomfortable: helping someone and continually rescuing them are not necessarily the same thing.

The people I love are able-bodied and capable of making their own decisions. And decisions have consequences.

I've tried teaching the proverbial person to fish. I've suggested planning, preparing, thinking further ahead, and making different choices. But sometimes, instead of picking up the fishing pole, I'm given a million and one reasons why fishing isn't possible.

So, I'm practicing a different kind of change.

Saying no.

"I can't help this time."

Not because I don't love them. Not because I don't care what happens. But because constantly jumping into the water may actually prevent someone else from learning how to swim.

I'm learning that growth isn't always about adding something to your life. Sometimes growth requires putting something down.

And changing a pattern you've carried for years can be every bit as uncomfortable as starting a new job or packing up your home.

Life Has Been Showing Us All Along

Nature reminds us that change is not an interruption. It’s part of the cycle.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that we've been surrounded by evidence of change our entire lives.

Nature practically puts on a demonstration four times a year.

Temperatures shift.

Trees lose their leaves and grow them again.

Daylight gets shorter and eventually stretches back out.

Flowers bloom, disappear, and return.

Nothing stays exactly as it is.

Even something as ordinary as traveling reminds us how little control we actually have over keeping things according to plan.

You can create the perfect itinerary.

You know when you're leaving, when you're supposed to land, what time the meeting starts, and exactly how much time you've allowed to get from Point A to Point B.

Then you get to the airport.

DELAYED.

There could be weather, a mechanical issue, or a gate change.

You might even land on time only to sit on the runway for 45 minutes.

Suddenly, the plan you carefully created requires a new plan.

You adjust.

That's life.

When Change Is Already Here

We don't always need to understand what happened before deciding what to do next.

There's another part of change that I think can make the process harder than it already is: the amount of time we spend fighting what has already happened.

We want to know why.

Why now? Why this way? Why couldn't things have stayed the way they were? Why did this have to happen when I was finally comfortable?

Those are questions worth exploring. Understanding our experiences can help us learn from them. But I've also learned that trying to understand why something is happening while I'm still in the middle of it can become its own distraction.

You may not know yet.

The lesson may need distance before it makes sense.

And there may not be a profound explanation waiting for you at all.

Something simply changed, and now you have to decide what you're going to do with what is.

We can fight it.

Wallow in it.

Complain about it.

Replay what happened and spend hours imagining how much easier life would be if everything had just stayed the same.

But none of that changes what is already true.

It reminds me of sitting on a nail, complaining about how badly the nail hurts, but refusing to get up.

Yes, the nail hurts.

You may not have known it was there when you sat down.

You may not understand why somebody left a nail there in the first place.

You can be frustrated that now you have to stop what you were doing and deal with a wound you didn't ask for.

All of that can be true.

But you're still sitting on the nail.

Now What Are You Going to Do?

Feeling what happened is necessary. Staying stuck in what happened is a choice.

At some point, as my Grandpa-pa would say, you still gotta get up and do something.

That doesn't mean we don't give ourselves time to feel.

I'm not suggesting that we pretend disappointment doesn't hurt or that difficult changes don't deserve grief.

They do.

But there is a difference between allowing ourselves to feel something and building a home there.

Eventually, we have to move.

We have to make the call.

Pack the box.

Have the conversation.

Ask for help.

Learn the new thing.

Make a different plan.

Accept what we cannot change and start working with what we have.

Because lying around whining about what is doesn't make the process easier.

Most of the time, it just makes the process longer.

Maybe we won't understand why the change happened until months or years from now. Maybe one day we'll look back and see exactly how everything connected.

But we don't need all of the answers to take the next step.

Sometimes the next step is simply getting off the nail.

We can plan for it, prepare for it, and make thoughtful decisions about it. We should.

But preparation was never a guarantee that nothing would change.

Preparation simply gives us something to work with when it does.

Comfort Has a Short Memory

And just like that, we forget how hard “new” used to be.

I think one of the reasons change scares us so much is because once we get settled, we forget how much work it took to get there.

We forget the questions we asked and the mistakes we made.

We forget the uncertainty, the awkwardness and the nights we wondered whether we'd made the right decision.

We forget how many things we once had to consciously think about before they became second nature.

Until something changes again.

Then suddenly, we're standing at the beginning of another unfamiliar chapter asking:

Can I do this?

I'm learning to challenge that question.

Instead, maybe I should ask:

What evidence do I have that I can't?

I've been new before.

I've had to learn before.

I've been uncomfortable and uncertain before.

I've watched carefully constructed plans fall apart and had to figure out another way.

And somehow, eventually, I found my footing.

So did you.

Don't Forget Who Survived the Last Change

The person you are today is proof that you've already made it through changes you once weren't sure you could handle.

Think about something in your life that once felt overwhelming but feels normal now.

Maybe it was becoming a parent, starting a career, changing careers, buying a home, living alone, getting married, getting divorced, launching a business, going back to school, or learning how to establish boundaries.

Some change is exciting. Some hurts.

Change can bring something we prayed for, worked for and finally earned. It can also bring something we never would have chosen.

Either way, there was a version of you standing at the beginning who didn't know everything the version of you today knows.

That person moved forward anyway.

That's worth remembering.

Maybe This Is What Progress Feels Like

Progress doesn't require us to be finished. It requires us to keep becoming.

I'm starting to believe that a fulfilled and progressive life requires a willingness to repeatedly become a beginner

Just when we figure out one version of ourselves, life introduces us to another.

Perhaps that's not something to fear. Perhaps that's the point.

I'm entering a new chapter professionally.

I'm preparing to build a home with my person.

I'm leaving the city I've known as home.

I'm learning to love my family without always rescuing them.

None of those changes are exactly alike, but every one of them is asking something of me.

Grow.

So, when I feel overwhelmed by how much work it may take to become comfortable again,

I want to remember the woman who handled the last transition.

She didn't know exactly what she was doing either.

She asked questions.

She paid attention.

She learned.

She adjusted.

She probably worried more than necessary.

But eventually, she figured it out.

And I'll figure this out, too.

Trust What You've Already Proven

You don't need all the answers when you already have evidence that you can adapt.

That's what I want to remember when change comes knocking again.

You don't have to know exactly how the next chapter will unfold. You don't even have to feel completely ready for it.

You already have evidence that you know how to adapt.

So, pack the boxes.

Ask the questions.

Learn the new route.

Set the boundary.

Start the job.

Build the relationship.

Say no when no is necessary.

Change the plan when the plan no longer works.

Figure out what this season is here to teach you.

Then hold on for the ride.

You've survived change before.

Don't forget your own evidence.