The Permanence of Change

I scribbled a quote on a sticky note and slapped it up on my inspiration board. On a yellow square with dark Sharpie the words stared back at me: There is nothing permanent except change. Other poems, quotes, and essayettes that had spoken to me plastered themselves across the same corkboard. In the past, before calling on my printer and push pins to capture all these words, I would save these gems in some other way – tuck them away in memory or save them in an electronic folder that might as well have been a black hole. Each message was ephemeral and fleeting. They served a purpose at the time – a little strength boost here, encouragement there – but in a time of change, it can be helpful to have something more solid. The Solid for me was the words of others I returned to time and again. Words that helped me slow my breathing, interrupt the narrative in my head, or just re-ignite the pilot light of hope. I needed the words of others because I hadn’t yet learned to find strength in my own.

There is nothing permanent except change. Greek philosopher Heraclitus wrote that circa 500 BC – or so Google tells me – and I find comfort in its truth. In the natural cycle of life and death, so painful and so real. The words of Clarissa Pinkola Estés echo immediately after those of Heraclitus: “When one breath runs out, another begins…. What must I give more death to today in order to generate more life?” It is the death of something that provides fertilizer and space for new things to grow, transition, transform. That initial Change, so scary and overwhelming, reaches a tipping point and becomes Transition – still scary, but also exciting and new and full of possibility.

In the last few years, life has thrown us a lot of changes. In their own time, following their own paths, they are growing, transforming and becoming transitions. The biggest transition: Tom and I are getting divorced. Please allow us grace as we navigate this particular turning point. Such a route is never easy, and we have had no charts to keep us off the rocks. The kids, for their part, are showing understanding and resilience in this transition that gives me faith in the future. I find comfort reminding myself that there is nothing permanent except change, and that sometimes things have to die to generate more life.

This change was made all the harder by the passing in January of our beloved Demon, whom you all followed with us on our trip. Grief consumed us. Demon was 20.5 years old. She was a feisty and talkative ball of gray fuzz, perhaps somewhat more like a skeleton of gray fuzz toward the end, but her feistiness never faltered. She passed away with both mine and Tom’s hands touching her matted fine fur. She will live in our hearts forever. Or to use Andy’s own words shortly before her death: “We will never have a replacement for Demon because she is so unique. There will never be another pet like her.” Wise words. And flowers now grow and bloom on Demon’s beautiful grave, death giving life to something beautiful. There is nothing permanent but change.

This will be my last post on Sailing Korvessa. It’s been more than two years since my last post here and approaching three years since we returned to land from our epic trans-Pacific sailing trip. The sailing trip is over. The difficult re-entry period is over. I never retired this blog because I knew there would be more stories. I knew there would be moments of joy and hardship that I would want to try to capture in words. But because there were so few outings on Korvessa and so few stories that had neat plots and happy endings, I somehow didn’t feel I could put anything out there. I realize now that there are no neat plots and no happy endings other than what you read into them, and certainly no stories neatly tied up in a bow because things are always changing. And yet there are so many beautiful everyday adventures that I want to capture in words as I try to turn myself into a writer. So, as I retire the narrative blog of our epic sailing journey and let it live on in the book I’ve written and will eventually publish, I’ll continue my writing in a different venue, The Crazy: Finding Meaning in Everyday Adventures (which will go live by June 25).

Just as our sailing routes had to adjust to the perpetual dictates of wind, weather, and tides, so it is time for my writing to adjust. It will not be the regaling with tales of harrowing waves or cultural missteps a world away, but the gentle weaving of stories, images, and meaning that come from our everyday adventures, the everyday changes we might not even notice if we didn’t jot down that little note to say, “This. This is beautiful. Be aware of it. Describe it. Tell the story. Show the wonder and the crazy in all the everyday adventures that make up our lives.” Maybe through the telling, I’ll deepen my awareness of life around me. Maybe I’ll even learn to find strength in my own words. Maybe there will be someone someday who tacks one of my stories or black sharpie quotes up on her wall and whispers to herself, “Maybe I can tell my story, too. I’ve been afraid, but I can change.”