Oh, history. That great teacher of lessons. No matter what the postmodernists say, I still believe there is much to be learned from looking back. By examining humanity's big picture, we spot trends or patterns that help us find understanding in our much smaller lives--like, for example, the different ways change can function.
Some historical transitions are simply the product of time. Minutes and days gently tick away and slowly, almost imperceptibly, things change. Flat medieval art gains Renaissance perspective. Romanesque heaviness loses weight and becomes Gothic splendor. Commonly held attitudes slowly change until what was once forbidden is openly lauded. It takes the benefit of hindsight--perhaps several hundred years of it--to see the change, let alone understand it.
Then there are the other kinds of transitions. The events or moments that pivot the world, taking it's course from one direction and forcibly twisting it toward another future. These are the dates that we have and will continue to pound into the minds of generations of school kids in the history classes they abhor. Columbus sailing the ocean blue. The shot heard 'round the world. Pearl Harbor. 9/11. In these moments, life, as we collectively know it, irrevocably changes.
I think this is how it is with our lives. Some transitions happen organically just by living. Friendships ebb and flow due more to circumstances than deliberate action. Relationships evolve, becoming better or worse depending on the daily acts we put into them. Haircuts grow out. These kinds of transitions are relatively comfortable. Yes, they require dealing with change, but not the in-your-face, aggressive kind of change.
And that kind of change can do a number on the most solid of us. These are the big events, the ones we mark our lives by. Leaving home. Getting married. Having a baby. Losing a loved one. For most of us, it's impossible to remember every moment of our lives; however, few of us will ever forget the first time we hold our babies or the way we felt when we moved far from home, walking away from all that was familiar.
These transitions are the ones that can make us feel like strangers in our own lives. We wake up wondering who we are and how we got here. Even if we're grateful we're there, such seismic shifts in our existence understandably throw us off balance, making us question the fundamental elements of who we are.
For me, the first years of my life as a mom have been a time of searching. Who is this little person, and how can I raise him well? Who am I now that I can't measure my worth by the checklist-paycheck productivity that's been my mainstay? How can a role be simultaneously fulfilling and mind-numbing? What is really most important to me--and perhaps more precisely, how do I live my life in accordance with those most important things?
With great events, the aftermath is often as compelling as the moment itself. The event sparks the change, but it's what happens next that actually makes the change. Giving birth was the catalyst to a period of intense soul-searching that has made me think about what is soul-satisfying. While I haven't found all my answers, I've learned things about myself and made long-needed changes that I never would have without the life-altering arrival of a new baby. I've come to believe that transitions unmoor us for good reason: if we were always tied down, we'd never have the chance to chart a new course.
