I have this “come here, no go away” relationship with change. The kind of change that shifts something form the inside out. Change that requires a true loss and gain, a gain I never expected or was beyond anything I could imagine. A shift at your core or soul level that you know has happened to you and in you but is hard to explain to others. I imagine others do as well. I desire, even seek this kind of change, changes that help me be the best I can be while I often resist the very change it seems I am seeking because it doesn’t look like I wanted, thought it should, is hard or painful or will take too long. I typically want change if I can control the process and outcome, as if I am in charge and know it all.
As young children we learn to expect change as we grow up, grow smart and grow older. All the while we, and others around us work very hard to maintain status quo and NOT change. Change is the only constant, so goes the mantra. When I hear that, I say to myself, “sure, that refers to other people not me”. Somehow, parts of me believe that the Universe has a special plan for me, one where I get to choose my transformative experiences. I want to fall in love, meet special people, go places and have experiences that transform me. That make me feel something perhaps more alive, moved, connected, safe, calm, stable, confident, powerful, fulfilled, loved, valued or heard. Perhaps I want to feel less of something. In either case, we all desire transformation at times in our lives but we don’t know exactly when or how those moments will occur, precisely because the temporarily suspend our sense of control and knowing. And, we want something in return for being willing to be transformed. To return to a specific state of mind or being or perhaps to be propelled forward out of sticky stuckness. We may be aware of this or asleep.
You know when you have been through a transformation. You are literally 180 degrees from where you were before, 0 is different than 180. We have a story or belief about who we think we are or aren’t or what we can or can’t do. Something happens and a belief or story is forever changed. Something is lost. It is like there is a cap or a maximum and something needs to be removed in order to be replaced for a different outcome. As if your inner world were an outfit, and you have to change the shoes, hat, and color or pattern to change the entire outfit. You can’t where both the old and new pairs of shoes at the same time. There has to be a loss to create a space, a vacancy for a replacement or something different. You can remember the old outfit, but it no longer is who you are now. That is what transformation is, a death, something is lost forever, but we can remember its existence, which opens the door, brings our awareness and attention to something new, something we have never seen, felt or experienced before. That is death and rebirth. That is transformation. One moment we have a story about who we think we are or aren’t, what we can or can’t do and that dies. We can recall that “time” or “that belief, feeling or way of being, but we no longer embody it as if it is our truth, it becomes a memory. That death created a vacancy, a blank slate, an empty room, a breath, a space.
I witness many transitions like this with my grandchildren, nieces or nephews while growing up. They established stories about who they are or aren’t and what they can or can’t do at various stages in their lives. Then they experience something that literally transforms them in a moment and the next moment forever more they are different changed. The time one of them decided it was time to face their fear of riding roller coasters comes to mind. One day, getting that ticket and standing in line. While in line anxiety builds, doubts arise and a few exists and re-enters occur. Then we are at the front and in the car. Checks and double checks on the safety bar and seatbelts. The long, slow, creaky cranky ride up the huge hill designed to build your anxiety to a maximum, knowing there is no turning back now. No scream, halt or reason will stop the forward movement. It takes f o r e v e r. And before we know it we are on a free fall with our stomachs seemingly in our heads. We simultaneously feel exhilaration and terror as our anxiety is and fear is transformed into joy. The expression on your face is indistinguishable between verge of crying and utter delight. For a moment, our sense of control and knowing is suspended. And before we can really have a thought about it, the breaks scream the unrealistic speeding cars to a halt. And she exclaims, “I did it, I did it, that wasn’t as bad as I thought, that was fun, can we go again!” She is transformed, 180 degrees different than she was just six minutes ago. The fear is a memory and the joy a new empowering state, way of thinking and being for her now.
It is not that we really don’t want to have experiences that transform us, in fact, quite contrary. It is part of the human condition to want transformation and to fear it simultaneously. What we fear is losing control and the unknown, losing parts or pieces of ourselves that, while may even keep us stuck or miserable, they are at least known to us. Know translates to control. We want to control our lives or our transformations but the very nature of transformation is that control has to be suspended in order create something different. We are asked to be comfortable with the uncomfortable, to be comfortable with the foreign feeling of being out of control and not knowing, so that something different can come forth. And we don’t know when those transformative moments will unfold.
Transformation can come from mundane or extravagant experiences that is not important. We can invite it like the roller coaster, enter into situations and expect it, or stay asleep and resist what has presented itself to us (resistance comes in many forms). Transformation asks of us, requires of us, really forces us to be vulnerable and risk stepping into something that is foreign. I recently had another opportunity to raft 280 miles of the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon with 16 people for 24 days. You don’t sign up for an intimate experience with one of the Seven Wonders of the World and not hope to be changed somehow (the beauty alone!).
This would be my 10th such trip and while I would never chose to swim in violent rapid (rated a 6-10 according to difficulty), I accept the risk that I might. When I first starting rafting I formed a belief that I was strong and smart enough that I should never have to swim. That I would never fall out of a boat as a passenger or would never cause a boat to flip (turn upside down) and dump all passengers and gear not strapped down if I was oaring. I believed that it was a weakness in others if they swam or flipped. That is until my first flip. I was a passenger in a boat and yes I hung on and hung on until I realized I could continue to hang on and I would be “in” the boat, but the boat was underwater and I would soon drown if I hung on anymore. So, I let go. I had to trust in a new belief in that second. A belief that I could swim or find another solution and rescue myself. And let me tell you, when you are about to run out of oxygen, you don’t waste much time thinking, your primal instincts kick in and you act. You get out of your own way to survive. The feeling is raw, it is what I imagine the cells of a moth feels like when it dying to become what it does not know yet, a butterfly. When I was under water and in it, I didn’t know how it would end.
I made it and it was transformative. I had a new belief about me and an upgrade on my beliefs about boating and boaters. The transformation happened through the shock of being in the water against my will and control. The swim itself was not that traumatic. That was on my first trip and I have since done nine more. I have not swam in most of them however, this past October I had a transformative swim. In the ocean, the waves are synchronized and predictable. You can get your breath in the troughs because you know you will be sprayed in the mayhem of the wave cresting at its peak. In large rivers, waves are created from all directions and then crash into each other, some at crests, some build and build then peak and crash, others create large holes and wave’s crash down onto those holes. This is because the flow is bouncing off canyon walls and huge rocks and debris underneath. It creates a chaotic mayhem of forceful water moving downstream.
I was again a passenger in a boat that flipped at the top of one of these large rapids. I was not afraid in the moment that slowed down and took f o r e v e r where I knew we were flipping but I was not yet in the water and had not time to think “take a big breath you will be down for a while”. As I rose to the top (we have life jackets on), disoriented and trying to figure out which way is up or down, gasping for air, I kept floating up underneath the flipped boat where it is dark and there is no air. The protocol is to take your hands and walk yourself out of under the boat to the side or away from the boat. Before I could do that the boat and I would be pummeled by another set of mayhem waves. This kept repeating itself and I had no idea when it would stop, if it would stop before I ran out of air. It was not a good know I was physically capable swimming to calmer waters but I had not oxygen in my lungs. I couldn’t take a breath without taking in more water.
It felt like forever but likely lasted 60 seconds or less. At one point I did make it to the side of the boat and saw my husband. He asked if I was okay and it was then I realized how much water I had ingested because you cannot talk at all. This swim changed me. Not in the way that I would never raft again, that is not the point, maybe I will or maybe I won’t. It changed something inside of me at my core. It suspended my sense of control and knowing and forced me to become comfortable with the uncomfortable. To trust myself and the Universe in a way I had not before and that was transformative.
No one would choose to transform through trauma or drama, pain and suffering, or feeling out of control unable to turn back. And yet we know it is part of the human experience that we can’t escape, whether invited and planned or dreaded and unplanned, fun or traumatic, large or small, frequent or infrequent, short or long is not the question. We will experience transformation we just don’t know when we will be called to be comfortable with the uncomfortable.
The question is how will you respond? That is your choice point. Will you embrace or resist? Our culture does not honor or give voice to the process of transformation. We tell others to get over it, forget it, move on, ignore it, provide help to maintain status quo. We don’t acknowledge and value that the fall we have to take, the loss we suffer, the associated grief, anger and emotions with the fall as an essential piece of the new. Sometimes we find ourselves hanging on to what was because we have a need to have something the way it was, the way we think it should be or to be right. This kind of resistance can lead to dis-ease. We are blinded to the new norm that is being born and the knowledge that this new can be better than before, it is just beyond our imagination so we hang on. We practically demand others transform, even ourselves, but basically don’t value the fall required to achieve the change. It would be like saying get to the top of the mountain but don’t climb it. There are no short cuts to this kind of change. You can start to value the fall as necessary to where you want to go, to who you really are. By doing so you are acknowledging and valuing that vulnerability is the only way to a more loving, creative, peaceful and wholehearted life.
We also don’t honor or value re-entry or integration of the new you back into the same world. The new you, the YOU after a transformation, is fragile and vulnerable, like a new born. The butterfly that emerges from the cocoon emerges in the same world the caterpillar left. You are now different. You know it, you feel it you want to share it, talk about it, live it and everything around you is the same. Words diminish it, Will others understand? Will they still like you provide what you need from them? What will you have to do, say, let go of, take on, in this new you? You may doubt yourself and shame yourself. You may want to deny, hide or make excuses to ease integration. How will others react? Others may throw blame, shame or guilt on you. Integrating the new you can often be more challenging or traumatic than the actual transformation. It may be tempting to want and try to return to the old way and some might even ask you too because they needed you to be what you were and now they have to adjust to the new you.
What won’t change is that you are your responsibility, whether you claim it or not. A transformation transition requires your awareness, attention, kindness, compassion and patience. It needs understanding, support and nurturing like a newborn learning to walk. You would never tell a toddler they are screwing or are bad in some way as they learn to walk, fall down and get up and walk again, however unstable or wobbly. Nurture yourself and ask what you need from others in this transition time. You may need more sleep, support and compassion in this newbie state. Acknowledge and celebrate your transformation, you don’t have to fully understand it to live it. Our culture does not value this important time, so you have too.
This re-entry as a new you is like the quiet time before dawn. A time where the light is soft, getting stronger by the second, but slowly, unnoticeable if you stare but noticeable of you look away for a minute and look back. Quiet, grounding, centering at the core, as if the sun is rising up through the earth instead of shining down on us. The light at your core is shining out as you claim your beauty and power. Honor the entire death and rebirth, the old and new, both are parts of the same whole, you. Honor you. Let others think what they will, it was never your business anyhow. You have taken one more step into being comfortable with the uncomfortable, trusting you in a way you never have before and in doing so give others permission to follow.
I came back from my Grand Canyon River trip a different person. Two months later I am still exploring, nurturing, caring for the new me in the same environment, conflicts, challenges (and wonder and beauty) I left. It is a process not an event. You are not alone. I am not alone. As I bring more compassion to myself I am able to bring compassion to those around me without judgment and feel the strength in giving a voice and witness to the vulnerability of our collective unfolding. I see another layer of how letting go brings be closer to my truth, my wholeness, my ability to be authentically me, freely and openly. I look forward to becoming more and more comfortable with the uncomfortable. Will you?
