Last May, a year ago, my good friend Katherine hosted a blog carnival and invited her readers to write about a “beautiful change.” I wrote about the first week I spent at the Collegeville Institue, which was the week I met Katherine (in the oddest cab ride ever), and the week when Hopes and Fears was born. Those were good, beautiful changes.
But when Katherine suggested a reprise of Any May a Beautiful Change, I had to think for awhile. We haven’t had many big changes around here recently. No new houses, jobs, kids. (We did buy a van, but I’m in a little bit of denial about that, so we’ll just ignore that one.) Things are pretty stable. Not boring, by any means; we are running, all the time, trying to keep us with school and dinner and travel and work and church and the grass that grows faster than we can keep up with. But that’s just the pace of our lives right now, with two children who never stop moving and two jobs we (most of the time) love. Our lives are full… but not all that different than they were a year ago. I’m sure there are changes coming, probably something I’m not even expecting, but for the time being and for the foreseeable future, here we are.
We have a bunch of church members graduating from college this year, and I’ve been talking to some of their parents about how hard it is, sometimes, for them to imagine life after college. Some are heading to grad school, for more of the same in a way, but others are launching out into full-time, regular jobs. It’s scary, I think, when everything up to that point has been done in four-year increments, to face the reality of a situation with defined end point. No graduation day. No specific time when you know you’ll move on to something else.
I’m a ways out from those days, now, and I wish there was some way to reassure those anxious graduates that it’s okay to just live for awhile. Without being part of a program that shoves you out into the next thing.
Sometimes the most beautiful change is no particular change at all.