“Change today?” the beggar asked.
There was a touch of anger. Some sarcasm. A bit of sadness too.
My son glanced up at me sideways. “So now you want to be a father?” I’d been endeavoring to share some hard-earned, had-fought, hard-edged wisdom. The conversation had been difficult. The topic unpopular. The message unwelcome.
A long silence.
“Now you want to be a father?” he asked again. (Indeed, I haven’t always been the best dad I could be.)
“Yes, now,” I said. “I get to change and grow too, you know.”
That’s the beautiful part: we do.
We’re not caught. We don’t have to stay the same, be the same, do the same things, go the same places, have the same job, get stuck in the same relationships, be the same weight, have the same level of fitness, make the same amount of money, have the same outlook on our life. We can mix it up, turn it upside down, play it sideways. All out. Or not at all.
We get to choose. We get to change.
It is easy to feel stuck, to get stuck. All of us have been there. We get overwhelmed by the circumstances of our lives: by the financial pressures we feel, by the demands of our jobs, by the expectations of our clients and customers, by our responsibilities to our children and significant others and loved ones. We travel down long rabbit holes into careers that we are good at but that are unfulfilling, that fail to nurture and satisfy us at the deepest levels. We find ourselves in relationships that once fed us but now, perhaps only through the ebb of time, slowly poison. We wake up overweight and out of shape with cholesterol that’s too high and estrogen that’s too low and blood pressure that’s elevated and a sex drive that’s not. It feels too complex to untangle the tangled web; too difficult to overcome the status quo. The maze is too complicated and the cheese is nowhere to be found.
Can we get out? How do we get out?
We get to choose. We get to change.
I felt sad last week at the news of Mark Madoff’s suicide. Bernie was a thief. His son was collateral damage: burdened so by the sins of his father, not sensing hope, not seeing or knowing a way out, not believing that there was a way through, a way beyond.
There is always a way beyond.
Ann describes her father’s later years: disillusioned, he moved away; caught in cycles of hopelessness and isolation, he self-medicated with alcohol; and died alone. He couldn’t believe that his world could be different.
The worlds we create can always be different.
We get to choose. We get to change.
Sometimes we need encouragement. Sometimes we need coaching or professional help. Sometimes we need patience. Sometimes we need a kick in the butt. But the door is always open. It is our birthright to continually transform our lives, ourselves.
We in the Northern climes celebrate the winter solstice this week. The shortest day and the longest night. Light will triumph over darkness once again.
The seasons change. And so do we.
Years ago, renowned saxophonist Paul Winter composed a haunting instrumental piece as a hallmark of his magnificent winter solstice celebration: The Turning Point Suite.
Each moment in our lives is an opportunity, a turning point. Sweet.
Change today? Yes, today.
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.
— Isaiah 43:19