Nothing So Constant

“There is nothing so constant as change,” some wise person once observed. She was probably looking in the mirror. We grow up, then out and finally down. I feel bad about my neck, too, Nora, but not nearly as bad as I feel about some other parts of my body. Thankfully, they are hidden by clothing most of the time.

Raised in a culture that yearned for the past and abhorred change, I take each one as a personal affront. How much better off I would have been if taught all the trite platitudes like “roll with the punches” and “bend or you’ll break”. Longing for the good old days and ways traps me in the past. Dreaming of a different future is equally wasteful. What do I miss? The present. This moment. The instant that is so fleeting, change is scarcely noticeable.

By focusing on the here and now, attention narrows and time slows to allow enjoyment of the minute pleasures. Birdsong. Breezes ruffling summer leaves. A whiff of wood smoke. The smooth chocolatey goodness of a diet shake. The contrail of a jet speeding across the amethyst sky. And it seems as if there is no change at all.

Georganna blogs mostly about writing matters at A Writer’s Edge.