Without pants

Without pants

My nine year old is yelling at me from downstairs insisting that all of her clothes are too small, she needs new clothes. A part of me believes there are numerous pants of the correct size strewn about her cluttered floor. The sofa alone houses nearly 9,000 mismatched pairs of socks at this moment. But she is growing and one complication of transformation is not fitting into the old things, the comfortable things, the available things.
Growth is hard, ask a seed. It utterly destroys you. I think that’s part of why we avoid change so desperately, even in the face of powerful evidence that staying complacent in slowly killing us. How many people can we all wisely observe from afar and discern that they are all making tremendous mistakes in their relationships, in their lives. Why do they stay? We would never do that. Compromise myself ? Pish.
Obviously I joke, it’s one of the many tactics I employ for avoiding change. Do you suppose the seed feels complacent while roots and stems are bursting through it’s hard outer shell? Perhaps the butterfly holds tight to its legs, having wings will just be too terrifying. But for the seed, or the butterfly avoiding change means to actually cease to exist. We don’t have the luxury of forced transformation. We can choose to stay in our comfortable cocoon forever. Stagnation carries it’s own pain though, and there is a price to pay for sitting still. Can’t go around it. Have to go through it, painful and uncomfortable though it may be. The good news is there is a reason to push forward, endure the transformation and reap the rewards: authenticity.
She found pants. They make her legs itch. Horribly itch. Itch with the fire of a thousand flames. Holding on to the old pants has become too painful. Only one thing left to do, change.


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