I woke up this morning feeling rested and relaxed. Something about falling asleep to the sound of steady rain, something soothing about naturally occurring pink noise. Contemplative. Meditative. Soothing.
Rain comes and goes. The sun rises and sets. And so to the moon. Tides ebb and flow. Leaves leave. Leaves return. And so it goes. Ever-changing, ever-reliable.
When I think about transformation, I can’t think about it without some consideration of time. Passing too fast, not enough of it, wishing we could turn it back, and so on. In any case, time and transformation go hand in hand—you can’t expect transformation without the passage (and occasional benefit) of time.
As I reflect on that, I’m thinking about COVID and the general effect it has had on how I experience time…its like this weird mix of moving through a bowl of gelatin while at the same time feeling detached from that same bowl of gelatin while also at the same time having this sense of freedom…yet without ever being quite sure of my own inner GPS coordinates. It’s so hard to explain.
Time passes in a different way now, despite the same 24/7/365 (except for Leap Year) construct. This post-pandemic world also is bizarro-world.
Wondering where I’m going with this?
You’re not alone. I’m wondering too. But still I type.
Everything’s different, except it’s the same.
Everything’s the same, except it’s different.
I consider my professional situation as one example. It’s changed. I’m in a new role with an opportunity to do some amazing things and to make a difference…but I’ve had other jobs so in a weird way it’s like I’ve been here before. Work is work. Biz travel is biz travel. Expense reports are expense reports. Different but the same. The same, but different.
It’s Pride Month. There’s also book banning and corporate greed and hatred of things we don’t understand. But still there’s Pride Month. There’s progress. There’s sadgress. And there’s regression. Different. Same. Same. Different.
The election situation also isn’t helping. I mean, why is The Cheeto still…everywhere? This is a wacky (and waxy) time warp back to the days of Greek mythology…hello, Icarus? Hubris is a bad thing. Denial is worse. Mania is worse still. And then there’s that flaming orange wild-haired Cheeto still in the midst of it all. Different. But the same. The same. But different.
And so it goes.
So yeah, I feel like life is one loop of a time warp, which we do again and again. So The Rocky Horror Picture Show song “Time Warp” has been a bit of an earworm of late. (So too “Good Morning Baltimore” from Hairspray, which I belted out last week each of the three mornings I was there, as I opened the room-darkening blinds. And speaking of being away, first to Chicago for the weekend then home for a night and then to Baltimore for three, well, that kind of movement robs me of any normal sense of time passing. I often lose track of where I am and why (and also have to expend too much effort finding decent food within a safely walkable distance of the hotel.))
And speaking of music, I also happen to think the T.Swizzle effect on the passage of time is a real thing. I mean, you spend three hours listening to her sing and your life will never be the same. You hear stories of people who attendher shows coming away with post-concert amnesia. I get it. I’m going back to Chicago trying to piece it all back together, to remember and relive every detail…to varying degrees of success. Do I remember her swallowing the bug? I don’t know. So I guess I don’t. Or do I? How was that almost two weeks ago? My sis and nieces saw her Saturday in Detroit so I relived it through them, and they are coming to visit next week so I plan to relive it again…and maybe watch Miss Americana with them.
Over the weekend we belatedly celebrated Kerr’s birthday…a tangible marker of time gone by, another crazy trip around the sun, and wide-eyed hope for the coming days. Annual events like that always find me taking stock of the last year, and often with the same wild disbelief: where did the time go?
Fortunately, being out in my yard Sunday as we prepped for that “party” was both very orienting and very grounding. Enjoying the solitude and observing the obvious and subtle changes that took place over the week reminds me of the role of time’s passage on a grander and more universal scale. I’m reminded of my own place in the scheme of things. I checked on the flowers (the coleus leaves look like delicate lace and are obviously being snacked on by some pest-y pest, the “white things” are meh, the begonias in the stoop pots are thriving), and the veggies (what veggies? 🤦🏼♀️)(there’s some growth and some death 🤷♀️) are muddling along. Tomatoes and peppers seem to be growing, a basil plant and the cukes seem to be struggling—time will tell. I also noted the greening of the grass, the shimmer of the pool…and saw the seasons, as reflected in nature. It’s the ultimate (and seemingly oxymoronic) anchoring transformation—literal change that is figuratively grounding. Because some change, that of semi-predictable pattern and reliable repetition, can (at least for me) be anchoring in a good way, not an albatross-around-my-neck way. It reminds me of place and people and perspective that for me are home. And that’s a good thing.
No…it’s the best thing.
Same with writing this weekly bit. I never know how it’s gonna go…but there’s a theme and a pattern and a rhythm…which is grounding, but not repetitively erosive.
Different, but the same.
The same but different.
That’s life.
Thanks so much for being part of the rattle and hum of my life.
See you next week…when we’ll inevitably do the time warp again.
Love you too.
The same but different. Different but the same. Nice. I feel it too.