Changing Seasons: Renovating Life's Kitchen & Staying Centered
"Everything must change.
Nothing stays the same.
Everyone will change.
Nothing, no one stays the same.
The young become the old.
Mysteries unfold.
'Cause that's the way of time.
Yes, everyone must change.
There are not many things in this life that you can be sure of.
Except the rain comes from the clouds.
The sun lights up the sky.
And hummingbirds do fly.
Winter turns to spring.
A wounded heart will heal.
But never much too soon.
Yes, everything will change..." ("Everything Must Change," Karrin Allyson)
Plutarch (46-119 C.E., citing Heraclitus) knew it best: "It is not possible to step twice in the same river." The river is not the same from moment to moment, nor are we. Everything must change.
When people ask what I do, it's a cinch: "I help people navigate significant change by imitating Nature." Simple, right? Leaves fall in the Autumn. Biological life forms decline in growth and vibrancy, entropy ensues, decaying, withering. How does Nature manage change? Everything gets composted, and returns as new Life in the Spring. It's a beautiful cycle. Wondrous. Magical, you might say. Or miraculous. Poetic, at any rate.
Unless one finds oneself in the muddle, deep in compost pile #9.
We're all in some stage of living, growing, thriving, declining, dying, and resurging as something new, something unknown. Sometimes, yes, we dwell in the pile of compost, churned by worms just doing their Thang.
It can be unsettling.
I thought it might be interesting to chronicle some Autumnal life changes- like living into my sixth decade, accompanying my friend through a significant health change, and a change on the home front - a kitchen/living room remodel. I see this as all connected with the global melt-down that is driven by human-caused environmental collapse, and the planetary heroes and heroines who are midwifing Earth's resurgence. Allow me to explain.
A recent diagnosis of Parkinson's Disease (PD) for someone close to me, a lifelong friend and relative, means a significant shift of energy, awareness, bouts of perplexity, frustration, anger and sadness, coupled with resourcefulness, vulnerability, trust, and hope. This means a shift in our relationship, in our dreams for the future. My friend needs me to listen and understand. And I need to learn from her. We'll be navigating this change for quite a while. The main thing is communicating and nurturing love, whether awkward, shaky, or smattered with tears of confusion, laughter, or mayhem. Basically, we're in the compost pile. We continue to show up for each other, and that's how we navigate the changing landscape of friendship. We're in each other's literal and metaphorical kitchen, sipping tea, slicing veggies, making plans.
Since I have had significant friendships all my life with those older than myself, it becomes clearer every day that Love's sister, Grief, walks with me more prominently. Declining health, physical and psychological challenges, waning energy, dying, dying, and more dying accompany me in the Autumn of life. I'm at peace with these dyings, even in myself, as my physical capacity begins to fade. My heart is forever young, feeling my way through a latent adult adolescence that characterizes my own process of aging and dying. I feel Earth's groaning every time I need a breather or wilt in the heat and drought. Global environmental distress certainly hit home when the derecho (land hurricane) wiped out 90,000 sq. miles of our beautiful bioregion in 2020.
As I live into my 60s, I'm witnessing the decline of our beloved HOME, Earth. I spend many hours in contemplative action doing everything I know to help heal Earth for the good of the whole, the wider "We." I also admire and respect those who have been laboring in the compost pile, and are out on the frontier of global environmental healing. Like many I have written about in this blog, pioneers like John Muir, Aldo Leopold, E.O. Wilson, Joanna Macy, Wendell Berry, Bill McKibben, Greta Thunberg, Mary Oliver, etc., I strive to leave a legacy for Earth's healing for ALL living beings to thrive in the biosphere.
The healing of the whole means the potential for healing for each of us, for all of us. And it's going to feel messy. Like compost pile #9.
In our little microcosm of life, my sister, Mar~ and I are also in the beginning of a kitchen/living room remodel. We bought this home 3.5 years ago, and loved the spacious feel inside (Mar~) and the surrounding embrace of Nature and the arbor elders (me). But it's a little stuck in the early 2000s, dark, dated, and not functioning well for two women who are vertically challenged. The kitchen has been breaking up with us for some time. Rather than replace a deteriorating floor, sink, dishwasher, lights, and cabs, we decided to move forward with remodeling using an organic modern design, one I dreamed up a couple years ago, a "Zen Chefery."
We've found our contractor, confirmed our basic design decisions, and away we go! I'm SURE there will be bumps and hiccups as we move along the stream. As we navigate this micro-change, I'll offer some insights from Nature's playbook that are helping us cope. Here's the first lesson:
Let Go
Because our kitchen is open to the living area, we need to let go of the old furniture and "eclectic style" combined from our former separate dwellings and lives. It's the first thing Nature teaches us - Let Go! Compost. New life will only come when life as we have known it fades, withers, no longer serves its purpose, decays, and dies. So, we are parting with some old items tied to those we have known and loved, and placing our hope in co-creating something entirely new. A little sad. A little scary. Still exciting. Embracing the unknown.
So, we begin to Let Go. Life is going to look and feel very different!
How are you experiencing change in your life this Autumn?
How do you see the world changing around you?
How will you stay centered/
grounded in the midst of change?
What helps you to let go when needed?
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