I can wish things were different and still take a step toward what’s possible.
I can wish things were different and still take a step toward what’s possible.
Sometimes life changes before we're ready to admit that anything has changed. We keep reaching for the familiar routine, the plan we made, or the way things used to feel. And when it isn't there, we get frustrated. Of course we do. We wanted a say in this.
I just read Who Moved My Cheese? by Spencer Johnson. It's a simple story about four characters in a maze, and I could see myself in it.
Sniff notices the signs of change early. Scurry takes action quickly, without getting tangled up in overthinking. Hem gets angry and resists, staying where the cheese used to be even as he grows hungry. And Haw? He resists at first, too. Eventually, he laughs at himself, faces his fear, and heads back into the maze. As he discovers a new way forward, he leaves messages on the walls, hoping his friend will follow.
I'm Haw. Or at least, I recognize a whole lot of Haw in myself.
I've resisted change. I've spent time wishing things would go back to the way they were. And eventually, I've learned to laugh at myself a little, loosen my grip, and take a step. Sometimes I wish I'd recognized the change sooner and acted more quickly. Over the years, I've gotten better at doing exactly that. I notice sooner. I respond more effectively. I spend less time arguing with what has already happened.
That doesn't mean I love every change. Some changes hurt.
Grief can force us into a life we never would have chosen. So can the end of a relationship, a change in our health, or losing a role that helped us know who we were. The familiar places are still there, but our experience of them is different. Even an ordinary morning can ask more of us than it used to.
And this is where I hold the cheese analogy gently. Someone we love isn't replaceable. Finding a way to live in a changed world doesn't mean leaving that person behind. Grief takes its own time, and sometimes the next step is resting or letting someone sit beside us.
What I take from the story is the invitation to notice where I am. Am I responding to what's here today, or am I waiting for yesterday to come back?
I can feel the difference in my body sometimes. My jaw tightens. My shoulders lift. I start having an entire argument in my head with something I cannot change. When I notice that, I have somewhere to begin.
And sometimes I catch myself and laugh. A gentle, “Oh, there I go again.” That little bit of kindness gives me room to choose.
Here's a simple practice for the next time change has you digging in your heels:
1. Name what's different.
Feel your feet on the floor and take a comfortable breath. Finish this sentence: “What has changed is…” Keep it to what is true today, without requiring yourself to like it.
2. Notice what you're holding.
Check your jaw, shoulders, or hands. Ask, “What am I wishing would go back to the way it was?” Give the answer a moment. Let one tight place soften, if it can.
3. Choose one small step.
Ask, “What would support me in the life I'm living today?” It might be changing a routine, taking a walk, or calling someone who understands. Choose something small enough to do today.
I still have moments when I want to sit down in the maze and complain about the cheese. Being able to recognize that sooner has made a difference. It gives me more room to respond, ask for support, and find out what's possible from here.
What's one small step that would support you in a change you're facing? Email me and let me know.
Go with Power,
Jason
