Life Changes

everything will change

by Anna Laura Art

August 31, 2018. My last night in my hometown before leaving to start university. 

I spent it like I spent most summer nights: with my two best friends. People I had seen almost every day in my teenage years. People I had endured high school with. People who would drag me away from my desk (kinda kicking and screaming) during exams to see some daylight.

But, the end of summer in sight, we were each going our separate ways. 

We spent our last night reminiscing about high school, retelling old stories—the shopping cart incident, the danger of studying for biology tests in the library, the mystery of Don Gambus—laughing just as hard. 

Then they drove me home. Before they dropped me off, reluctant to cement our separation, we did one last lap around my neighborhood, “Life Changes” by Thomas Rhett playing softly on the stereo. Then we pulled into my driveway, said goodbye and they drove away. In the morning, I drove to Waterloo to begin a new chapter of my life.

I’ve seen them a handful of times since. 

life transitions

These past months, I’ve found myself in a similar period of change. A life transition. I graduated from university in April, packed up my things, parted with friends I’ve spent so much of my life with for the past five years, moved back home. It’s all been a bit surreal. 

It's hard to watch an old life crumble. Sometimes life changes in ways I wish it didn't. Sometimes I find myself wanting to return to a past self, when life felt simpler, straightforward. Those things I miss, but know are never coming back.

I realized I’m detached from so many parts of my old life. I don’t live in the same city, I don’t go to school anymore, I don’t have the comfort of knowing what I’ll be doing come September. I’m separate from people who were so integral to my life for so long. 

I find change hard because my identity becomes intertwined with my environment: the city I live in, the work I do, the people I’m with. They form the familiar markers of my life and shape my idea about who I am. In life transitions, I lose the markers that make up who I am, resulting in a shaken sense of self. I’m forced to redefine myself, without those things. 

So I’ve felt a little afraid, a little lost. Malleable maybe. Untethered. 

Wanting to scramble back into the comforts of the past, but knowing I can’t. Questioning whether I’m becoming better, making progress, moving forward, or just wandering aimlessly, drifting delusionally. That’s always the challenge: Am I afraid because salvation lies on the other side of fear? or Am I afraid because I’m throwing my life away? (Hopefully the first one).

I know every chapter in my life has something to teach me. I know I need to be willing to close each chapter, move on, trust I’ve learned what I need, to let the story continue. And I know there’s a pained beauty in the transience of life—that things only last for so long—and letting our attachments melt only adds to that beauty.

i'm not ready but it's happening anyway

I would hardly recognize the 17-year old who left home nearly five years ago. I’m not sure we’d have a lot in common. He wanted to conquer the world while I just want to spend more time around trees.

Even a year ago, I could’ve never imagined the life I now inhabit. A year from now, I’m sure the same will be true. 

I reconcile the ambiguity I find in the future with the certainty I have in the present. That there’s something beautiful and complete about living fully absorbed in the moment, despite not-knowing. That the most beautiful parts of life are unplanned. That the most beautiful people are unexpected. 

My current attitude towards change is something like: "I'm not ready but it's happening anyway." 

I don’t feel ready for my life to change. Perhaps I never will. But I can remain open. Receptive. That’s what it means to fully engage in this life. To cherish moments where I feel steadfast, stable. And persist past moments where I feel unmoored, lost. 

I may never love change but perhaps all I can do is beat on and forge forward, despite the persistent pull of the past. 

My life will change. I’ll change. Everything will change. 

I read something recently like: The past is always pleasant, the future is always frightening, the present is always hard.

The world continues to spin, the music continues to play, the train continues to roll, so I might as well dance along to its rhythm.

by Anna Laura Art

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Thank you for reading my writing. I hope this piece made your day a little more beautiful.

Thank you

Latham Turner

for your invaluable help on this one.

If you enjoyed this, you might like my related piece on climbing mountains with friends.

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