Friday, August 19, 2011
stretch your legs
I hold my breath for change.
I said once that change -- no matter for good or worse -- was losing some part of me. It was letting something in or letting something go, and I've never been good at either of those things. I said that change was a ripping apart, that it was some sort of mutation of how your heart is now and how your heart was then.
But couldn't change be good once in a while?
Couldn't you throw your life into cold water when it was hissing hot and melting, and pull it out hard as stone and sparkly when the light hits it? Couldn't it be better than it was when you started?
Sometimes change is good. Sometimes it manifests itself as friends that will laugh at your jokes and sit with you at lunch at high school or as going away to California for a month or as fitting into some jeans or maybe even as a desperately cute blond boy who has nice arms and you can't figure out why he would even like you at all after all the dumb stuff you've said. Sometimes change comes easy and it's welcomed and you can forget for a little bit about the other bad changes like summer coming to a shocking, teeth-grinding end or Gilmore Girls reruns not coming on ABCFamily at 3:00 anymore.
It was change that brought medicine and science and your iPod, and change that brought your long legs and your cheekbones coming through your skin to make you pretty finally. Change brought cardigans back in style and change made it so you could go to Japan on the red eye flight. Change brought skyscrapers and the color mauve and mauve changed the world through science and fabric dyes. Change sliced bread and change knit your clothes on a big machine and change made it so you can't hunt endangered polar bears in the North Pole. Change drove you places and sang you to sleep and change read you a story or maybe you read it yourself but change made you understand the little inky symbols on the pages of a mass-produced New York Times' Bestseller that you wouldn't have understood if you hadn't changed since you were six-years-old. Change made you speak.
And so even though I'm a hypocrite, even though I hate change and fear it and try to walk by it quickly without even looking at it, sometimes change is good for you. And sometimes it makes you better, or even happier. Change is you and me and you changed to read this post and I changed to write it and something about that was probably good for me.
"We're very cute and unconventional, I think." -Me.
"I like what we are." -Him.