Change

Change is more certain than taxes, but as dependable as death.  Everything is always changing. You’re changing. I’m changing.  What, who, why, and how I change, make change, affect change, spare change, and react to change will change my fate, forever. Positive change, therefore, is in order.

Obviously, I can’t change some things, like ear-hair, gas prices, or earthquakes, but I can change my behaviour. I can change how I greet and treat everyone I encounter. I can change a moment by, simply, being nice. A smile, sometimes, is a pebble tossed into a pond needing change.

Change my attitude, change your life.  Change your attitude, change my life. Change your attitude, change your life. Change my attitude, change my life. 

Personal change starts and finishes with me, without question. Doctors Joy, Phil, Oz, Drew et al sell slick slogans, systems, and sound bites, but, in the end, I’m stuck with myself. If I want change, or if I want to change, it’s up to me.  Oprah’s got troubles of her own.   

As her fluctuating weight and gossip-fodder personal life establish, quick fixes don’t work because permanent change is real work everlasting.

Fortunately, change can be easy. Change can be fun. Badminton, ping-pong, swimming, curling, yoga, reading, writing, and walking, for example, are just as entertaining as snacking while watching TV, but better for body and spirit. 

Unfortunately, change can be unpleasant.  Because I don’t always like what I see, I hate self-scrutiny, but I have to look at myself if I want change. Fortunately, the opportunity to change is in perpetuity, so I have until my last breath to get perfect, which is the goal. My tombstone, urn, or eMorial will read:  He Lived.  He Changed. He Died. Perfect. 

I like wordplay. That won’t change. 

Change is handy, especially for parking meters and the dispossessed. I always empty my pockets of change when the homeless have their hands out. Sparing spare change won’t change my life, but it could change an hour of someone else’s. So what if they buy booze?  Even if it’s temporary, they’re pitiably desperate for change. Who am I to judge?

I used to be a cynical, cold conservative, but I’ve changed, a little bit.

Changes by David Bowie is a great album.  Nobody says “album” anymore.  Things change.  Change is a great song by Tears For Fears, another 80s band that tried to rule the world with problem-solving music.

Sometimes, when using spell check, I hit “Change” erroneously and that’s not positive. 

I wash and change my clothes regularly, but I scarcely replace them: hobo chic. That won’t change. Frugality is in me bones. Me ma, who grew up on a farm on PEI, travelled mostly by foot, tractor, and horse until a teenager. While we were growing up, she often warned us, “Change your underwear in case you’re in a car accident.” I still change my boxers frequently and drive cautiously. 

Contrary to well-guarded, nurturing, nourishing belief, the status quo is always fallible and subject to change. 

I change my mind regularly. It’s a sign of intelligence. If I hear, read, or see an opinion or method that might be better than mine, I’m open to change. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. It’s evolution. 

I won’t change because I’m told to change.  That’s for sheep. I won’t change for change’s sake. That’s for sure.

I remember when I decided to try to write. I was riding my bike in Nagoya, Japan, and suddenly stood up to accommodate the epiphany.  That was 18 years ago and the obsession hasn’t subsided. Like a gentle remedy, writing has changed my life. 

Two daughters have changed it more.  Sometimes, I positively love change. I wrote a little poem about love and children and change.  It’s called, Change:

Millions of messages were exchanged

Life’s sacred schedules were rearranged

Our daughters came and they took over

And all our precious plans were changed

For all of China’s Chinese tea

For all the sea-salt in the sea

I wouldn’t change my beautiful girls

And I’m sure they wouldn’t change me

Image courtesy stock.xchng.