Spare Change

Change is hard.

There is no getting around it.

Despite how much you may love variety, or embrace new adventures, change is a difficult reality.

I have often considered myself very adaptable. If asked, I would probably say that I am very open to change. I was the kid who rearranged her bedroom furniture about every other week. I’m the girl who grew up in Minnesota, went to school in Kansas and then moved to Chicago. And I’m the woman who is considering moving to yet another city in a few months.

But the older I get, the more difficult change has become. Every year of my post-college life has had more and more of a significant role to the person I have become. There have been countless, precious people that have come in and out of my life and many relationships that have changed who I am and who I choose to invest in. I have developed skills, lived adventures and triumphed over sorrows in ways that deeply impact my story. All of these things in my life have created deep watermarks on who I am today.

And now, every change carries with it much more weight than it once did.

Choices, it seems, have a greater potential for impact than ever before.

So how do we cope? How do we embrace or even consider change? A change in career, a change in location, a change in community?

The other day, my dear friend Tim told me the story of when he changed jobs a few years ago.

Tim had a job in the suburbs that he loved. He felt his coworkers were like family and he had learned and grown and thrived in this role and environment. He could see himself there for many years to come; he even anticipated being a “lifer” on this staff.

Then he got an amazing offer in the city – an offer that seemed too good to be true. When he told his boss at his current job that he had an offer on the table, they quickly matched the salary and benefits and begged him to stay.

But something inside of him started to realize that change was on the horizon. His heart started beating for this new opportunity and direction.

He went on to tell me about a plant he kept in his office that was a gift from his co-worker. He said he watered the plant and took care of it but never replaced the pot that it had come in. He said that every week when the cleaning lady would come into his office she continuously pointed out to Tim that the plant needed a new pot. He told her week after week that he would get to it but he never did. The plant remained healthy, but small.

When Tim finally made the difficult decision to accept the new job in the city, he gave the plant to the cleaning lady so that she could continue to care for it in his absence. She was so excited about the gift that she went out that day and bought a new pot for the plant – a bright gold pot.

Later that year Tim came back to visit his old workplace. When he saw the cleaning lady, she excitedly said, “Tim! You must come see your plant. I kept it here and continue to take care of it.”

Tim said when he saw the plant he didn’t even recognize it. He said, “THAT is my plant?” In front of him was a flourishing and thriving plant. “Tim, I had such a difficult time getting that plant out of that pot,” the cleaning lady said, “You would never believe how root-bound it wast! I didn’t want to get out of it.”

Tim realized what a strong metaphor that plant was to his life.

In order to really grow and transform, he had to get a ‘new pot.’ But it wasn’t without struggle that he changed course. He had many roots that kept him in the old pot, roots that almost did not allow him to move forward.

When Tim told me this story I was instantly in tears. It is such a difficult process to replant yourself in a new experience, place or relationship. Anything new requires a de-rooting of sorts and saying goodbye to much that is comforting and familiar. And that is hard.

But sometimes we must allow ourselves to be re-planted. Then and only then can we find the room to really grow.