On Change, Jul 2021

When I think about the times in my life that I've struggled it invariably involves major change. In moments that felt so destabilizing that I lost my "I"--my sense of self--I questioned the core of my being-ness. Who am I if not this person that I thought I knew so well and that did things this way and had thoughts that I recognized as me?

This state feels unsettling and scary. Emotionally this shows up as anxiety, and for me, anxiety is almost always linked to a fear of uncertainty. Physically, it drops into the body as injury, pain, shakiness, unease, heartbreak, or even a feeling of disembodiment. How do I stay in my body and be with these feelings and sensations when I'm not sure I am my body? Escape is a seductive alternative to being with the discomfort of change.

And yet, we never truly know what is, and we certainly do not know what will happen tomorrow. The only certainty we can really know is the certainty that we will change, our lives will change, our loved ones will change, and the world around us will too.

So why do we hold on so tightly to what was and what is and what we imagine will become? Why do we resist the inevitability of change?

When I was younger, I heard in various ways that "people don't change." I've come to realize this couldn't be further from the truth. Perhaps there is some security in that sentiment, or in the "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" saying. But, you can in fact teach an old dog and you can indeed change any mindset, belief, emotion, and behavior. Humans are so incredible that we can even shift our subconscious minds and reorganize our neural pathways in our brains. My primary reason for beginning to run again and learning to meditate was discovering that cardiovascular exercise and meditation provide a path to neuroplasticity, our ability to rewire our brains to be more adaptable to new experiences.

Our power lies in embracing change and accepting all that comes with it--the excitement and the optimism, the turbulence and the fear. When we consciously decide to feel the fear--to really embody the sensations that arise when we feel a negative emotion or have a scary thought--we realize that the fear is really only there to protect us. It's our instinctual reaction to fear change; it's our survival mechanism—the way are brains are hardwired. But once we give fear it's own voice and hear it out, it is less scary.

Neuroscientists have discovered that emotions pass within 90 seconds when we fully meet them and the accompanying sensations in our bodies. However, they may linger or come and go if they are not witnessed, experienced, and offered acceptance. Accepting the changes from within allows us to integrate our inner world with the ongoing changes in our outer lives.

Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön speaks so eloquently on embracing all of our parts. In her landmark book, "When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times," she writes:

Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.

I had a beautiful conversation last week with a friend about synchronicity and a higher power. He asked me if I believed in synchronicity--if I believed that God, or the universe, signals to people that they are on the right path by sending signs of encouragement from the universe. Acknowledging that this topic is complex for me, I shared that I believed that we sometimes use synchronicity to justify behavior, both good and bad. We agreed that the ego, which is fear-based, can create such illusions.

I reflected on times in my life--particularly around sudden changes, often traumatic--that I became more open to asking for guidance. And often this felt to me like desperation--discomfort so deep that I didn't know what to do with it. So I looked outside of myself for signs and answers. This was one way of coping--surrendering a part of myself that couldn't fully deal with my current reality and asking the universe for a nudge or a wink or any sign that I was connected to something greater.

Meditation for me has become a way of knowing that I am connected to something greater. Rather than asking the universe for answers, I sit and listen for them.

Sometimes we contemplate existence and look for meaning and we don't come up with answers. We simply have more questions.

Carrying questions with us as a practice and being ok with not having answers seems like a way of being that just might illicit life-long change. What I do know is that because we are dynamic beings in an ever-changing landscape, we continue to be presented with hard opportunities for growth and renewal. Can we rest in this sea of warm impermanence?

With continued gratitude,
Brynne