Every spring and fall I run late because I never know what to wear. I spend too much time rummaging through my closet trying to piece together an outfit that in the spring doesn't look like winter anymore and reflects the new fashion; and in the fall doesn't look like summer and incorporates that season's style. At the end of the ordeal, clothes are strewn across the floor, bed and bathroom counter. It is a twice-a-year reminder of how much I really don't like change.
And yet, I always come around. I flip through the clothing catalogues and magazines. Eventually, I let go of my notion of last year's fashion that took me two months to embrace and in which I was comfortably entrenched by the end of the season. As I get a feel for what I might like that's new, I lug outdated skirts and too-wide-lapel jackets to the "other-closet pile" and tuck a few new items into my main closet. For five or so months, there is peace on earth. And then the process starts all over again.
In a year, change imposes itself in many other ways as well. This year, for example, I bought a new cell phone after seven years of clutching one that had lost its cover and the doohickey that keeps the battery intact (after I dropped the phone in parking lots several times.) There was also the new clock radio that I had to learn to program after accidentally tipping a glass of water into my old favorite that refused to wake me up any longer.
Then there are the friends who have died and whom I no longer have in my life to tell about my latest project and for them to eagerly ask, "How is it going?"
It's hardest to give up the people. I still have a pair of socks from junior high school that my grandfather gave me before he died when I was 15. And then there are the pets. I lost my dog and two cats to cancer in the last year and a half. I cling to their static photographs in the desperate hope to hold on.
In varying degrees, I grieve for anything that was and is no longer. You just get so used to the people, pets and things in your life being there. And even though you know nothing stays the same, there's a part of you that always hopes it will.
After working with people and their work issues for nearly 20 years, I have come to see that careers are also one of the hardest things for people to give up or begin anew. Work represents so much of a person—the place you can express yourself, learn about yourself and develop who you are. It's complicated.
Some people expect a lot from their work—maybe too much. Others don't want it to ever change. It is terribly inconvenient to have to start all over. Not to mention scary.
And if that weren't enough, when it comes to your career, there are two dynamics at war within you: the desire to be happy and the desire for security.
As you contemplate and make a career change, you might keep in the back of your mind my take on change. It is this: No matter how big or small the change, you are going to feel discomfort. It is to be expected. So let chaos reign. Don't try to avoid the discomfort. Metaphorically speaking, throw your clothes all over the floor, bed and bathroom counter. Then bring on the catalogues. There will always be new ones to thumb through—because nothing ever stays the same. That's a good thing if you want to continue to express yourself, learn about yourself and develop into who you are. Or perhaps more accurately, who you are becoming.
