My daughter called yesterday to say she had landed a job she wanted. It's a job in an office as distinct from the lonely, self-sufficient, less-well-paid realms of working from home.
She loved what had happened.
And hated it.
But in the midst of her recitation, I asked her what she thought made her nervous. She answered promptly and forthrightly, "I hate change. Any kind of change."
And I was tremendously pleased and proud of her: To have such an understanding, however superficial, is the first step on a serious road. Will she follow up on it and investigate and delve? I don't know: Maybe she'll just tuck it in the back of her mental sock drawer as so many do ... forgetaboutit, bury it, block it out ... or maybe, just maybe, she will pick up her own reins and chew the bubblegum we all have to chew.
Change is the way of the world. Sometimes it's happy-making. Sometimes sad. Sometimes, as with my daughter, both. Either way, it's the way of the world and hating or loving change is like tits on a bull: Is there something right or wrong about change or is it, rather, that my attitude is skewed ... and it's worth sorting out?
Anyway, I was happy for my daughter.