Change

Change is incredibly unsettling.

When I was in elementary school, I remember watching The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. I was terrified that at any moment flocks of birds would break through the windows of our home and attack us. At night I thought about all the places I could hide. Under the bed, inside the closet – nothing seemed safe enough. For weeks, I was paralyzed with fear.

Though the birds never came and I never had to run for my life, the illusion of a safe and predictable world began to fade. When did the innocence and beauty of childhood begin to crack?

The moment that comes to mind is of my grandmother – at that time still so young and vibrant – standing tall in the middle of our living room, holding the telephone receiver in her hand. It was our doctor, letting her know that my grandfather had passed. Her response has always stayed with me. Surrounded by her children and grandchildren, in a country thousands of miles from where she was born, she did not shed a tear in front of us. She took a deep breath, hung up the phone, and walked away to her room.

I watched her do this my entire life: face crisis and upheaval without fear, with a faith that she never explained the origin of. She was my first teacher. This is how I navigate change – I always push forward.

In fact, for much of my life, I think I chased the thrill and growth that upheaval can bring. Instead of fearing the unknown, I leaned into it. I left home for college as soon as I could. I worked abroad for years soon after that. I’ve seen the beauty of the world. After over a decade of teaching in the classroom, I left it to pursue instructional leadership. And for years now, I have rarely stayed in a school or a position for longer than three years. This constant change and movement has come to define who I am.

It is no surprise, then, that I have hit a wall. I am exhausted.

It requires a different kind of strength to stop moving, to stay still, to become attached to and fall in love with a place or a community. To believe in the safety of building a world. To believe that it is possible to feel like you have finally arrived home.

I am very much at a crossroads.

Life will continue moving and, in this moment, I have to continue moving with it – with the resolve that I’ve inherited. I have a feeling, though, that sometime soon, I will need to pause longer than I’ve ever given myself the chance to do, and truly face the questions and fears that lie just beneath the surface.

What makes us whole? What does it take to be complete?