If we can depend on anything at all in this life, it is change. Leaning into it is usually my greatest strength – mastering resiliency in transformative experience. I move easily. The years before living with my husband, I physically packed up and moved five times within two years. It felt safe. But sometimes, it also felt lonely.
Since then, I’ve moved twice in five years. A bit of a shift into stability. And mostly, our life is wonderously stable. But sometimes, I forget how even a stable life is a moving vehicle with highways and potholes, windy dirt roads and stop signs. Sometimes, we roll along unencumbered and sometimes the car is packed to the brim with stuff – good, bad, or indifferent – that obstructs our view and falls beneath our feet.
Everything we walk (or drive) through – phase, experience, or emotion – is a SOMETIMES. It is transient. The phrase “this too shall pass” applies to everything. Including beautiful moments and toddler temper tantrums. To be aware of the sometimes is to be aware of the movement and the present. To be aware of the sometimes is to be aware of bliss.
So, when I resisted change (in the form of new neural pathways connecting within the brain of my sweet toddler boy), there’s no wonder in why my vehicle came to a roaring halt. Neither of us were wearing our seatbelts. Though it seems that only I endured the worst of the whiplash. The kind of pain that comes from non-presence. The kind of pain that comes from ignoring the sometimes.
Ignoring the sometimes means opening yourself up to suffering. And the same as a smile, a frown can move just as quickly around the world. I spent a whole week in this state of unsmiling suffering. Because, while my little man created those beautiful new pathways, I sat in my head plotting ways to heal our disconnection. A disconnection that reminded me much of his birth. (He was the baby I never expected to be born, after a myriad of pregnancy complications.)
But coming back into awareness, sometimes, disconnection is natural and normal. An exploration of life outside the womb. While I plotted, he lived. At times tripping over my hopeful stop signs and often running through red lights. While my mind and my mouth shouted “stop!”, each day rolled into the next. Sometimes, the next day would be an even greater challenge. But today, it’s not.
You see, the sometimes perspective really is bliss. And I’ve found that living in the sometimes – in the honest experience of life as that moving vehicle – brings about peace. An intangible gift. One that I can share with my son. One that travels by smile, touching life after life.
So, here I snuggle with my sometimes-blissful, ever-honest toddler. And I thank God for my many moves, and for my experience as a gypsy. Unlike our culture of want of control out of fear, I have been gifted many moments of living effortlessly – of living in a space of love. A piece of my soul is content in change, understanding of life, and fully intertwined with the sometimes. Sometimes.