Notice anything new? What do you think of this updated version of my website? What needs to change? Somehow this hatched over the past two weeks amid many tears and tantrums.
“I want to indent. The photos should be bigger. This isn’t right. Why can’t it be like it was before?” I torment Bob at Ameriweb, my website’s new host. Bob works late nights to make the transition to my new online home go smoothly. But it is so different from what I knew and loved about my old site that I am having a hard time accepting it. “It’s too many changes,” I protest. This is just the beginning. This week I will register for a new health care carrier. I will start writing for a small online newspaper. I may even start to discover how the government shutdown will affect things.
“How much longer are you going to be working on your book? Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” my friend Liz prods. But I am still doggedly making changes to my memoir. And maybe I’m a little afraid to take the next steps.
I wasn’t always this wimpy about moving forward. I wonder what happened to the adventurous spirit that buoyed me as I got my pilot license, became a lifeguard at the age of fifty, and went alone last year to Australia to scatter my daughter’s ashes. Why am I so averse to change now?
At six in the morning on Sunday I burrow deep under the blankets not yet ready to face the new day. There is too much I can’t control. Nothing is the same anymore. My website, my book, … my life. Suddenly I need to just blow everything off.
So I go with my friends and our dogs for a walk in the woods off Comfort Road. We take a new trail in a familiar area. It is cool and damp in the forest. Then it becomes hot and muggy. The dark cloudy sky turns light as the sun comes out and I tie up my hair and tear off my jacket. If I close my eyes it feels like it’s still August. But when I open them I notice the green of summer is almost gone. The stream beds that were dry in July are muddy and wet now. And the trail is covered in red and yellow leaves.
“Look. Suki’s wearing earrings,” I say. The fallen leaves stick to her. She is like a trotting mop on the forest floor. We laugh when she shakes.
There is really no escaping change. I just have to find the joy in it.
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Change isn’t all that uncomfortable. Resistance to change is. Dang. Busted again.
You have lost your teacher so Robin this is great initiative I love the pictures
Thank you Joyce. I guess one of my new teachers is the silly dog who will look at me quite seriously with a leaf stuck on her chin.
Completely agree, Robin. No escaping change and sometimes we get bombarded. Computer glitches drive me nuts and yesterday I had to replace a hard drive–with my son giving me instructions and then remoting in to my computer after the hardware was set up, had to disconnect my bluetooth streamer that allows me to talk on the phone because it’s flaky and cutting in and out, and when I lost my camera that i’ve had one week (I’ve never before lost a camera or a cell phone), it blew the circuits. Being outside and away from the technology helps.
I don’t find your new design a problem in any way. I’d choose a solid color on the side borders because I don’t like the visual chaos that draws me to the border, but that’s a personal opinion and others might find my solid borders boring. I like the smaller photo size and they download quickly. I’ll look more. As always, your photos are interesting and beautiful.
Thanks, Elaine. I really appreciate your feedback and support. Wish I could find that camera for you. I know how it feels to lose something like that from your son. My new phone is from my son and I’m so tempted to leave it behind when I hike because I don’t want to lose it. Darn. I hope it reappears.
Robin
Amen, sister. You got it right there. There is no escaping change. We just need to find the new beauty everyday.
And everywhere, as you’re doing, Nicole. Amen, sister for sure.