I was going to write about change last week, but, ironically, that got brutally altered due to an intervention by Matt (see my previous column). Today I can write about change even more.

I wish I could say my greatest fear is fear itself. But I’m not so wise as Franklin D. Roosevelt or Harry Potter. My greatest fear is change. Though I’m known to be progressive and impulsive I’m not flexible and in fact rather conservative. Change means rearranging all the little chunks of info in my brain, in order to have everything in the right way, appropriate for the new situation. Change means effort for my control freakish mind.

And now, my god, the times they are a-changing.

You see, I somewhat quit my job. I want to write more than ‘just’ a weekly column and I wasn’t happy with my job anyway. I’ve arranged to stay till the end of August. By then I hope to have found a different job. A job that needs me three or four days a week instead of five, so I have my hands and mind free to write. I haven’t found anything yet, though.

More changes feed my brain. For example, our set back last week caused Matt and me to slow down our pace and think about ourselves and each other and the concept of our ‘together’. We intend to work things out and make some changes, but decided to consider each other ‘split-up-though-not-really’ in the meantime.

Last week in London I sat at the little desk in our hotel room. I was supposed to be thinking the most brilliant thoughts, the most magnificent ideas for future articles, the most cunning contemplations for future columns.

Supposed to be. Supposed to be.

Instead I’ve been walking the streets of London like a zombie, not really sure what to do. I’m scared. I know I should take the plunge. Dive right in. Take advantage of every possibility around me right now. But instead I freeze. I go numb.

I’m wondering whether I’m just suffering the shock of all the changes around me, or already stood with one foot in a burn out or minor depression. Why can change be so numbing and scary, even if deep down inside it’s so obvious the particular changes can only be good?

But I’ve written about myself way too much lately. Today I intend to seek for the broader picture once again. What a coincidence, another change I feel like making. I need to know: what makes change so terrifying?

Change is uncontrollable, therefore change is a risk. You are forced out of your daily routine into a new situation. You may have expectations about the new situation, but in the end you don’t know exactly what the result will be. Change means you could end up doing better, but it could also be the beginning of a major failure. And once the change sets in, either voluntarily or not, there’s usually no way back and hardly any control over the process.

Funnily it’s not the fact that I’ll change jobs or am about to give Matt my best that feels frightening to me. I suddenly realize, it’s not the change itself that’s frightening, but the circumstances that surround the change. The process itself.

Co-habiting is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to giving up your day job, trying to find another one for only three days a week. Knowing I need a lot of financial support by Matt. Knowing I increase my financial dependence on him significantly. Especially now with all the issues he and I need to handle. What if after all we won’t work out? What if the process of change accidentally leads to failure?

It’s a jump without a safety net. I may come across like an independent woman, knowing exactly what she wants and how to get it, but I’m not. And beginning a writing career is the first thing I’ve ever done without a proper guideline, tutor or partner in crime. It’s exciting and thrilling, but damned, I’m petrified.

I read somewhere that change can be compared to the powerful waves that lick the sand of a beach. And that, when you get caught up in a wave there are three things you could do: let it knock you over, stand strong and survive it or actually ride the wave and come out better than before.

Scary or not, riding the waves of change seems to be the best option. Going with the flow has always been the best advice in many circumstances. It’s like Bob Dylan made so clear more than forty years ago:

Admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’

Column published by Cecile on Monday, June 25th, 2007.

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