change is sometimes so unnecessary

what if i'm not ready to let go of what's familiar?

Before we start, I know change brings better, greater things in the long run, but that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here because it’s not always guaranteed.

Change brings confusion, discomfort, and loss. It drains the strength you once had and forces you to summon some to use just to start your life from scratch. But most of all, it brings about fear, grief, and uncertainty.

People talk about how we should embrace change, how change is a necessity for growth and opens doors to endless chances — chances to start again, to seek fresh opportunities — but they never talk about how it truly impacts your life. They never talk about how hard it is to accept change, to give up control, how hard it is to stop reminiscing, and how much you keep on missing that version of your previous self.

So, I’m here to speak on the period of uncertainty that’s brought about by change.

That period where you feel change coming, and immediately after it happens. That’s the point in your life where you have to figure out your path, without knowing the way forward. Where you are supposed to discover and uncover parts of yourself, despite something (or everything) being taken away from you, and finding the courage to craft life all over again.

Frankly, maybe this is me admitting that I haven’t fully accepted the concept of change. Maybe this is me finally accepting it.

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”

— Alan Watts

But, is it truly the only way?

an abstract of a path — via Substack

Exactly a year ago, I could feel change coming — soon.

How, you might ask? I don’t know. I can’t quite pinpoint that feeling.

I would describe it as being at the end of something—something good (not great) but monotonous. It’s like you're silently craving something new or exciting, but your current life isn’t that bad at all, and you can live it out some more. Maybe to others, it looked like boredom. So, I’d say yes, I was at the boring stage.

Being human means you never know what’s going to happen next, but we do try our hardest physically, mentally, and spiritually to trust and prepare that anything that comes our way will be in our best interest. Whether good or bad.

So, of course, as someone who believes in their worth and wants the best for themselves, I dismissed it, knowing that it was the “good” kind of change. I knew that getting to where I was already was a struggle. I had overcome so much shit already, and I believed nothing could be able to alter my trajectory of intentional living.

But, one thing about change? It doesn’t ask if you are ready. Hell, it doesn’t even care.

It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen. It surprises you, even if you swore you were prepared.

Eventually, it came. And it wasn’t the “good” kind.

Most of the things I had worked hard for in the previous three years went down the drain, and it pretty much felt like a loss. Everything familiar was stripped away from me — my comfort, my habits, my version of myself that I finally liked and appreciated. All the fond routines (that I was proud of) suddenly disappeared. The people I leaned on drifted. It was like I was starting all over again.

I tried so hard to take it all in. To accept that all this happened, but trust me, it wasn’t easy. Frankly, I think I did a good job at adjusting to this change. To find new routines, to learn new habits, and to summon that version of me that I liked.
But as time went by, I discovered that I was able to move on because I thought something enticing was coming my way. That it was just a matter of time, then things would start unfolding and everything would be better.

Except, I’m still waiting for better.

I feel like I’m still chasing it, wanting to feel it — hoping that it will fill the void of grief caused by the life that I once had and had suddenly ended, but also trying to lead myself to think that this is just the beginning of “better.”
As hard as it is to admit, I still feel as helpless as I felt when the transition was happening. I still feel like my sense of direction is non-existent; I am still as confused, and I still wish it had never happened in the first place.

I’m still accepting.

Isn’t it ironic that we are the architects of our lives, but we don’t fully control it?

I think I’ve heard this a lot before, but didn’t fully grasp it. Change takes time.
But if you think about it, time is all we have. So, in a way, change is happy to take a piece of ourselves, masking itself as growth. But it’s not at all certain.

And to me, change is unfolding not to be a beginning.

It feels like an ending, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

I hope I do, soon.

And maybe that’s the real meaning of change. A reminder that we’re building, even though we have no idea what we’re building toward.

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