The end of my (former) life as I know it

Caution: Ranting and raving follows. I become gloomy and fearful and pessimistic and melodramatic in the sentences to come.



When I was younger, I was never one for change. I hated everything from moving around the furniture in my room to wearing a different color nail polish. I needed order.

I guess I was raised in a very habitual home. My parents are creatures of habit. My dad has parked in the same spot in the driveway for as long as I can remember. My mom always cooks too little vegetables at dinner and way too much meat. They do things the way they’ve always done them, and I don’t think they’re going to change anytime soon. Maybe that’s partly where I got my fear of change. I liked things the way they were and never wanted them any differently. I saw change as bad, for some reason.

Seasons were even worse. I know, I know—I just wrote a whole post on how I didn’t mind summer ending and loved welcoming fall. I do. I really do. But the whole adjustment from season to season has never been easy for me. The end of summer always meant a new school year was starting, the end of fall always meant everything was halfway over, the end of winter always meant a year was all over, the end of spring always meant the school was over and I’d be another grade older.

Wow, I guess I really wasn’t the most optimistic of children.

But this year, I wasn’t going back to school. I didn’t have to be another grade older or sit in classes all day again. But I did have to start my Big New Job.

And that meant the end of my life as I know it. I know that sounds negative, but I don’t mean it that way. My life as I knew it was just . . . not going to be anymore. Everything would change. I would go from college student (yeah, so maybe I continued to call myself one throughout the summer . . .) to working professional. Even though it’s not really a real job, it’s still somewhere I have to commute to and work at from nine to five. Anyone reading this over the age of twenty-five is going to roll their eyes right now, but I just feel so old.

I actually pay attention to the traffic updates now. Rush hour is my enemy.

The night before work I have to seriously consider what I’m going to pack for lunch the next day, and then make it by myself and pack it some kind of lunch box thingy that won’t make me look like a child nor a middle-aged working mother.

I come home and when someone asks me how my day was I have to say things like “We had a really long workshop today” or “Meetings can just be such a drag.”

I have to actually put gas in my car more often than every three weeks.

This is me? Is this how my life is now going to be for the next year, at least?

I know I shouldn’t be complaining, because I at least have a job and am making some money, but I can’t help but feel strange about all this change. I’m trying to jump in with both feet and really embrace this new opportunity, but I’m a little wary.

Do you often feel intimidated by changes, too? Even if it’s a really positive change?

Pardon me. I’m grappling.



(Bottom photo via J.Ota)