Historically, I haven't approached change as well as I probably could. It probably started somewhere between ages 5 and 6, when going to school incurred some minor consequences like having to learn to tie my shoes by myself. School could certainly not be worth learning such things that only seemed to waste my time. I had playing to do, and the 80s welcomed velcro...an efficiency that seemed to fit well with my style. How could I waste time tying laces?

I sat behind that blue arm chair embarrassed and disappointed in how long it was taking me to learn: my 5 year old self was as equally critical as my 25 year old self in holding to high standards. Several events that followed would similarly illustrate my agitation with change. Even welcome changes (such as me changing into a dog or a boy), although brought on by myself, were given a set of seemingly uncontrollable circumstances. For example, I only could "turn" into a boy when the illusive Mrs. Dash seasoning appeared on the stove top. Although mom rarely used spices beyond salt, pepper, cumin, and mint, Mrs. Dash somehow triggered my little mind to think gender; and if that spice could have a prefix of Mrs. (inferring gender), I could certainly be turned into a boy by merely looking at the plastic bottle. Why this made sense, I'll never question. Further, it would only be by the great power of Papa Dash to turn me back into a girl. Mom never used Papa Dash as far as I could tell, but learned quickly to keep it on hand for such incidences where Mrs. Dash would inadvertently be revealed and change my chemistry. I was in a world of change, sometimes driven solely by my imagination, but mostly driven by the fact that I was the youngest of 3 and had little choice over what to do each day. Although I was so used to change, I still resisted.

I guess I'm not much like that little 5 year old anymore, although I'm hoping those ridiculous traits show up in the family once more down the line. I've learned the most from changes that have been unexpected, unwanted, and unusual. I never thought I'd have a conversation with my dentist begging for 90% of the smile I had and only being promised 80%. Little did he know, I don't believe most promises, so I banked on 70%. Even my toughest inner critic can say I have 80% of it back, just what he promised, and this change, although unplanned and completely unwanted, did not come without learning to want what I have: to appreciate what I have, because I may wake up without it tomorrow. Perhaps this is a necessary lesson. I've also learned to not keep all of my eggs in one basket, literally and figuratively: also because of changes.

I'm moving in a few days, another change, and although this is expected and planned, I'm sure it will welcome new lessons to be learned and harbor experiences I've not planned for myself. What I do know, is that I'm much better prepared than myself at 22 years old, and light years past my 5 year old self. What I don't know excites me, and as long as that is true, I'll be fine.