My Tent on The Beach

I write a lot about cycles. And if I don’t actually write that much about them, I think about them all the time. It seems I can’t go for too long without reoccurrences: same or alike people, same or alike situations, same conversations, same insights. There have been long periods of time during which I think I’m actually just standing still and watching scenes from some determined kind of ride rush past me. It all seems so familiar. De ja vu.

But I’ll say this: reconnecting never feels wrong. That’s not to say that I haven’t seen someone for the first time in a long time and thought, “nope, this was over a long time ago.” Or similarly, that every time I see someone I haven’t for awhile that I’m happy about it. In fact, to the contrary. I was just thinking this morning of all of the people I’m glad about exiting my life. Some we users and just completely sucked me dry. Others were confused and sought answers elsewhere. Still others were like a little capsule of time…right at that very moment but not for a second longer. For those, there was no actual, discernible connection. Sure, at the time it felt like there was. But as the mist of friendship or blush of love faded, there was nothing actually there even from the beginning. For those folks, reconnecting isn’t even possible; there was nothing thee in the first place.

No, reconnection is something that happens only for the few who present that ever-elusive chance to connect in the first place. It’s not a physical thing or a mental quirk. I do think connection is something of the soul, something mystical which cannot be overly examined or characterized…it’s merely felt and known somewhere in the deep recesses of ourselves. On some level, we just are innately aware of those to whom we connect. And that is something timeless and maybe even forever, maybe even beyond what we understand forever to be.

The good news, I think, is that connection doesn’t have to be grandiose. It can be tapped into over beer (only minor pun intended) or can actually be conveyed thoroughly in a couple-word text message or a gesture…even a look. I’ve had what I consider the rare pleasure of knowing several people with whom i converse best entirely nonverbally and those people are treasures; the connection is so obvious, words are not required…and in this age of seemingly endless words…I do find that a gift.

I have been judged by many of the course of my lifetime for my choices: in friends, in relationships, in grudges and sympathies. Many of my “connections” fall into those categories. I can’t explain my attraction to this people. Maybe they stand out above normality. Maybe the circumstance in which I’ve stumbled upon them renders a relationship that just looks foreign to others. Maybe it doesn’t make easy sense to people outside the know. And for these, and others I’m sure, I’ve been met with skepticism and raised eyebrows. I’ve been pitied because of my weird coterie of seemingly random friends. And loves. And the fact that those categories aren’t always mutually exclusive.

The actual pity, though, lies with those who judge, I think, because they just don’t know. Connectedness is something completely alien and always will be. Reconnectedness isn’t even an option. That is a true, true shame. In the end I’ve known some fascinating people and I’ve known them well. And that’s all that really matters. And I get to be the judge of that.

Maybe a year ago, I was thinking about the fact that I hadn’t talked to a man who had been possibly the best friend I’ve ever had up until the fall of 2005.  I left my previous job to move to Chicago and go to grad school and “it” stopped working shortly thereafter.  I remember the moment I knew I probably wouldn’t talk to him again: I was inundated with the stress of classes, planning a conference, living on my own in an apartment above a freak who was scaring the living piss out of me.  It was a day like any other day and I was trying to make the best of things but losing the battle.  There was silence on the other end of the line and then, “Katie…I just can’t talk to you about school anymore…I can’t take it when I’ve had a very rough week.  I’ve been trying to decide on new upholstery for my couch and I’m just tied up in knots about it.” (At this point, you may be asking questions…go ahead…you know the answers).

And that was it…a switch turned off in my head and I knew that was it.  We’d taken it to the limit and couldn’t go any further. “I’ll talk to you soon,” I said and started counting as the days turned to weeks turned to months…turned to 4 years.  I’d felt tremendous guilt during that time…maybe I should call, maybe I should stop in on a trip home.  No.  I just couldn’t bring myself to do it…like something in my DNA told me it was gone.

So at some point over the course of 2009, though I can’t remember when, I did call and left a voicemail saying I was sorry…I knew he couldn’t talk about school anymore…and it hadn’t gotten any less stressful…but that I thought if I let it go now, there would never be knowing whether or not this was my fault for throwing something away.  I didn’t expect to hear back but about six weeks later he called; we talked about movies and tv shows.  I asked about his mom.  He told me I should call when I come home the next time…we’ll grab coffee.  He said he’d call next week. And I was glad when he didn’t.

It seems so counterintuitive to feel that relief…especially in our culture that’s so much like “we’ll work extra hard to save whatever we can.”  But it was just gone.  There was nothing left to save.  A friendship that spanned more crossword puzzles than I could count, thousands of miles through Italy, France, Czech Republic, Akron Ohio…all reduced to an awkward, stilted conversation about watching The Amazing Race for the 8th year in a row. Just let it go with grace.

And I think I have.  But what I know now is the feeling–that gut level weight that hangs right below your ribcage–of it being over…whatever it was.  I now know the moment, to the nanosecond, that what has been working so far just doesn’t take anymore and that sure grip that was once there starts to falter.

That’s one of the worst feelings in the world.

I’ve always been a very private person. I know, it’s weird because it seems I’m so extraverted.  And I absolutely am.  I am as outgoing as you’d think.  But I also have sides no one sees…in the past couple months I’ve worked hard to make it sides that only a few people see.  Turns out transparency is important no matter where you are.

I’m particularly uncomfortable with the idea of “being known.”  I don’t love it when people think they know me…in fact, I thrive on the energy of knowing that I know for sure I am a mystery to people.  But I find myself at an interesting crossroads.  A couple months ago (just a couple months ago) I realized that, unless I really am committed to being alone forever, I’d better let some people in.  So, I’ve worked really hard not to stop that process…and now people know me.  Not everything.  But a lot.  A friend said just the other day, “I know you, Katie.  I know how you are.”  It still scared me.  But over the past couple days I’ve worked to be comfortable with it.  More than I’d like to admit.

And it’s kinda cool.

I spend a lot of time on “waiting:” I myself wait for things to transpire, for people; I reflect on whether or not I should wait; I wonder if waiting ever does any good.  Given the number of years I’ve felt like this has become a kind of mantra, I’m becoming convinced that waiting is more a symptom of a particular kind of worldview as opposed to action.  Waiting almost seems antithetical to action; it’s non-action; it’s….waiting.

As I get older (and one would hope wiser…which I always think is the actual purpose of thinking about age at all–as a mark of life experience) I’m beginning to see waiting less as a courteous gesture on my part (I’ve always approached it like, “I’ll just sit here and wait til you get your shit together…don’t you worry about me.”) and more of a hunkering down–steeling myself against whatever kind of roiling storm is headed my way.  The bigger the storm, the harder I hunker.  I have a “wait it out” mentality…and I think I always have.  It’s how I’ve made it through just about every phase of my life.

But I think I’m becoming a cautionary tale for the hunker mentality; I have a really horrible relationship with the inevitable and as long as time is the mode by which our lives play out, inevitability is always going to be there.  The truth will out in the end…always…(by the by, I’ve never quite understood the grammar on that phrase yet this is how it’s used…a question for the ages).  And actually, when I push past what is a debilitating hunker impulse, I’ve watched the experience of inevitability work itself out.  Or at least present new opportunities that appear to materialize out of thin air.

This reflection is brought to you by the letter “I” and a conversation I had with a friend yesterday.  It’s a conversation that’s been long overdue…as I count it, it’s been about a year and a half since things have been “right.”  We’re both hunkerers so the unbearableness of the present was enough for me to finally draw a line in the sand and polish off my dueling pistol; said friend showed up with dueling pistol in hand…it was bigger than I expected. And thus I was swept into the inevitable, partially by my own hand and partially by the wake of my dueling partner’s efforts…and I couldn’t stop thinking, “This is it; the moment I’ve been dreading…I didn’t think it would look like this.”

It wasn’t an easy day.  It won’t be an easy week.  After that the stings that are there will fade.  My new reality will become “every other day” and everything will resume forward motion at its own pace and with new questions daring me to find new answers.  But in the midst of all of that, I couldn’t stop thinking two thoughts: I didn’t think it would look like this and How did this happen? I’ve felt alternating waves of guilt, then anger, then a simple old-fashioned giving in.  I kept wondering if the hunters and gatherers ever came to this point.  Inevitability was at my door and I just had to let it come in.

I didn’t think it would look like this. And today, it’s not a bad thing.  That’s the weird part about this inevitability; I can breathe today in a way I haven’t for a long time.  I can focus on what I need to do to get my work and, in a lot of ways, my life on track, a focus that was falling by the wayside. But mostly what’s missing is the worry associated with “what will happen when the inevitable comes?”  I’ve seen the inevitable…it was at my door…and in that moment it was okay for it to come.  And with it it brought Hope, Opportunity, and Peace of mind.  Also in it’s entourage were Hurt Feelings and Bruised Ego; those guys are nothing but trouble so I asked them to go. I can still see them poking their heads up over the windowsills, trying to peer in.  At least they can only look.

I’ve spent some quality time with Inevitable and I think there might be a spark of something there.  I didn’t offer him a beer or pull up the coffee table so he could rest his feet. But then, he didn’t ask for it.

Maybe someday.

It has been awhile, hasn’t it…since the last “friends can be asses” installment?  I knew it was only a matter of time.

In my last post, I discussed the disrupted communication chain when a friend of mine chose not to answer an e-mail.  At that point I was annoyed. So, what does any self-respecting neurotic do?  Of course, I called.  And the phone call went unreturned. Panic ensued.

I suppose I shouldn’t be so anxious.  So what? So he didn’t call back? Big deal.  But, oh…it was a BIG deal to me.  An unreturned e-mail is one thing; maybe something got lost or it was forgotten.  Okay.  But an unreturned phone call?!? No, no.  This was not good from someone who meticulously returns every phone call ever received, even from people he actively dislikes.  I was sincerely worried this non-return was meaningful.

Such was the case that I was scheduled to run into said unresponsive friend later in the week but by the time that happened worry and annoyance turned into a roiling, white-hot fury.  (There were other things going on, of course.  This isn’t my usual reaction to this type of thing…but he stepped into it big time.)  The fury stemmed from my feeling completely ignored (cue the “Fatal Attraction soundbite, “I will NOT be IGNORED.”  This is why I worry about myself).  This was an active non-communication.  Thus, the following equations sums up how that scheduled meeting went:

Katie’s white hot fury + Friend’s pretending nothing was out of the usual = Katie’s Icy Cold, White Hot Fury Smile.

(I knew how it felt on the inside and I’m not lying when I tell you I scared myself.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be the one receiving it.)  If you know me personally, I’m generally pretty warm and friendly…generally.  When I’m angry, imagine that warm friendliness collapsing in on itself and turning inside out into Ice Queen meets Psycho Killer.  It’s not one of my prouder traits. Cue his panic.  I felt vindicated for 2.5 seconds and then I felt like I just kicked a dog or something.  I proceeded to be Ice Queen for roughly five minutes and then realized 1) it was stupid and 2) I couldn’t keep it up for a prolonged period of time and I was having a hard time breathing, so I decided to cave.  He knew right away what I was upset about. Of course he knew.  His reason for non-response…”I was busy.”

Oh man. White hot fury momentarily returned.

We discussed and I hated myself the whole time because I sounded like one big “woman” cliche…in the end, the point that was taken was it would’ve been better to respond quickly and say he was busy than do nothing.  He apologized…of his own volition.  Case closed.

I’ll tell ya.  I’m a sociologist by training and I’m taught that nothing is really “inherent” when it comes to behavior.  But this is such a GUY thing to do it makes me ill.  I don’t have women friends who don’t respond.  In fact, the opposite is usually true with them…when I’m pissed or they’re pissed we have to talk it out to the death.  But this whole, “I was busy so I couldn’t take 3 nanoseconds to just tell you that.”…I literally think its the presence of testicles that gives one courage to use that intensely ridiculous excuse.  This, I believe, probably forms the history of the phrase, “it takes balls to…”

The real coda to all of this is that said friend of course redeemed himself in a really shining fashion and I think in some ways that takes balls too…it’s a lesser ball achievement but a noteworthy one nonetheless.  And as I work back through the archive of all of the “friends are asses” posts, they usually end with redemption.  So, this is more a chronicle and less a complaint.

But friends really can be asses sometimes*. Whew.

*Of course, in the same breath I’d acknowledge that this particular friend could write a magnum opus called “When Katie’s are Asses.”  This may be the true firmament upon which our friendship is built.  We both have the potential to be incredible asses.

You know what makes me seethingly, nuttier-than-nuts, over the top annoyed?  When people break the communication chain leaving you hanging in a communication lurch, hands tied, and wondering.

I’ve noticed the communication chain to be very important to me, I think as a single person, moreso than 1) married people, 2) men, 3) introverts, 4)…okay, well, considering the number of people included in those groups, maybe I’m just crazy about the rules of communication.  But I find them fairly simple so I’m not sure why everyone just can’t get on board.  They are as follows:

1. When you initiate the communication, you (the initiator) cannot (cannot) for fear of being called a stalker contact the same person until they contact you back.

2. When you are the receiver of said communication*, you return it.

2b. When returning, it is proper to return via the mode the initial communique was delivered. (Thus, it is completely outside of the rules to return a phone call with an e-mail, etc.)

*This of course assumes the person contacting you is a friend or bound to you by a communication-based relationship (boss, brother, the dog groomer, etc.)

Those are the rules.  That’s all of them.  No overly-wrought communications lingo, addenda, or small print.  Of course, I realize that there are circumstantial situations that may preclude the rules and that’s fine; these are general and finite.

Unfortunately, I’m now left in the void of the disrupted chain of communication.  I blame myself.  I sent a vague, short e-mail to a friend fully expecting a response.  In all reality, it probably looked fairly innocuous and not meant for any kind of repechage (it’s a word…ask Susan, she knows)…but now my hands are tied…by my own damn rules of communication. Why?  No return.  Rule 2 was utterly tread all over.

Technically, I suppose since rule 2 was broken, all bets are off and I–as the victim, truly–could cite that in my trial for stalking a friend.  But we all know, per the labeling theory, what the title “stalker” can bring you in life…essentially, not good things.  No, I’ll just have to wait.  But that then brings up the weirdness that will come when I encounter said friend face-to-face; of course, I’ll want to ask why they never e-mailed me back…but I won’t…because in another set of communication rules, the non-returnal of calls, emails, disruptions of the chain of any species, cannot be inquired about directly for sure look of desperation.

The chain has been broken.  It wasn’t even a chain, really.  Just a simple two sentences with a question to finish it off.  Gone forever.  It’s the same dismay I feel when I know the opportunity to change potential energy into kinetic energy has passed. It’s a sad day for physics just like it’s a sad day for this lost communication.

Farewell, e-mail. Farewell.

To say I’m a creature of habit is an understatement.  Despite my “wild and crazy” exterior (riiiight…), I love routine.  I’ve come to realize it’s a comfortable way for me to mark time.  I spend a huge part of my life waiting for the future to happen; this, admittedly, is a horrible habit that I’m trying to un-do…but I’ll tell ya it’s not easy.

Anyway, as I’ve been talking about, this “forward-looking” perspective coupled with the biggest, roiling shitstorm-of-change conditions over here have led me to what may be either my 4th or 5th mid-life crisis in the past couple weeks.  I’ve been working on re-focusing so I can free myself to do what needs to be done: get my PhD, not go insane, function in my life, find some joy.  You know…the basics.

One thing I realized is that over the past 3 years, I’ve not actively made the effort to keep things “different” or “various” or “changing.”  Of course, I realized this from a tiny little kernel of truth spoken during a yoga class last week; the instructor said to us, “okay, cross your hands like you normally would.  Now, switch it.  It’s gonna feel weird…but even that little intentional change helps us to be more comfortable with the change we find happening every day.”  She was so right…and was proven right in a bigger way by the events of last Friday.

Many of my friends in graduate school have “moved on.”  Not surprisingly, I haven’t…and because of that, I’ve been adrift in this swirl of “lost friends.”  I still see their shadows lurking around in the neighborhoods we all used to live in.  I remember the conversations we had in the bars that I walk past every day.  In that way, I’ve been living in the past.  So one of my intentions recently has been to find new opportunities to find new people to find new parts of my old self.  It sounds arduous…and sometimes it feels that way.

BUT…last Friday I got another chance to uncross and cross again.   I got a chance to turn an acquaintance into a friend…and it worked…magically.  And part of the magic was, I didn’t initiate it.  It’s been a long time since I’ve actively felt “befriended”…it was a nice change.  And the friend I think I’ve found is just comfortable and fun in the best of ways: compelling, interesting, funny, and similar. Maybe I’m technically celebrating the sameness…but this is the friend I’ve been looking for in this time and place.  And in two days, he’s breathed a kind of new life into me…and the friends I already have.

It’s been pretty interesting.  And I very much attribute it to “recrossing:”  Seeing the world in a new light and acknowledging that it might feel weird at first but that it eventually becomes another kind of reality, just ever so slightly different than the other (or last) one.

Here’s to Jerusalem*. Thank You.

*For whatever reason, when I type his name into my phone (to text or whatever) it automatically auto-corrects it to “Jerusalem.”  I have absolutely ZERO idea why…but it’s endearing…so I’ll go with it.

This could easily be a rant about comments I didn’t ask for showing up on my Facebook page that “cynify” [def: turn something fun into something cynical...that's right, my word] something I’ve posted up there as a moment of levity.  In fact, I’m choosing not to dwell on that (and it’s an active choice because I’m actually seething about it right now…but I’m letting go).

No, instead, I’m going to build on the somewhat popular, new-to-this-blog topic of friends being asses.  It seems fruitful territory to mine these days; at least, I learn an awful lot about myself.

I think it’s no secret (unless you read this blog and literally absorb nothing I write about) that I’m in a period of reflection, transition, self-discovery…all brought on my these crazy circumstances of change everywhere I turn.  Like “epic dreams” that allow your subconscious to speak “truth” to you in dreams, my life right now is at “epic transition.”  I’m totally day to day.  And I’ve already discussed how important my friends are in keeping me afloat in what can be tumultuous seas.

But this tumult also breeds a really bad habit on my part and what can be really bad behavior on the part of some of my friends: they can be mean to me and I’m likely not able to call them on it.

I know…it’s funny even to think about that weird contradiction–if people are mean to us, how can they be friends?  But no, there is a fine line I think lying in between people being comfortable enough to “be who they are” in their darkest of forms and people just being…well, asses.  And this is a line we (meaning the “me”s in this situation) regulate…it’s up to us to defend who we are and what people are allowed to do to us.  Although, arguably, when it comes to friends, we should never have to. (What can I say…I’m still an idealist at heart…and head…okay, I’m an idealist at the most molecular level.)

I realized today that this has been happening to me for awhile…with someone(s) I do consider my ports in this daily storm.  And it makes me sad in several dimensions.  I’m sad I let it happen.  I’m sad they’ve taken advantage (although I’m sure they’re not even aware…which, incidentally, is why we can still be friends).  I’m sad I have to confront my “ports,” a situation that could render me…wait for it…portless.  And portlessness is a scary place to be.  But it’s not scarier, necessarily, than have ports whose waters aren’t shelters but are actually barnacle-pummeling storms (okay, I’m done with the boat metaphor now.)

I guess the realization is this…I’ve assumed the storm was outside of this group of folks I’ve surrounded myself with…only to discover that they’re part of the storm.  I do have faith that I’ll be heard in whatever way I choose to address it; these conversations won’t be easy, but I think they’ll be fruitful.  But I keep moving along as though I’m protecting something I have.  What I’m really protecting is just a mirage…once again, the choice to face what is real rears its ugly head.  At least there isn’t a decision to be made; this simply cannot go on.  But things will change…another transition.

What’s hard to remember is that there are transitions that will bring about more difficulty and there are transitions that will actually get us to a better place.  This specific case is definitely the latter; my life will be qualitatively better not swallowing the bad behavior (no matter the intention) or justifying it…or contextualizing it…or rationalizing it.  I’m going to get away with much less work on a daily basis.

But I’m not fully prepared to accept that some of these “friends” might not be “friends who are asses sometimes.”  They might, in fact, just be “asses.”  And maybe it’s time for them to find another lost little rowboat to pummel (sorry…I needed just one more go…)

I’m hoping…really hoping…for option A.

I love my friends.  I suppose we could argue about which way to draw the causal arrow; I love these people because they’re my friends…These people are my friends because I love them.  Either way, I need them, they give me joy, they help me to plug along when plugging is necessary, they share my greatest triumphs.  I always aim to do the same.  It’s one touchy, feely love fest when it comes to me and my friends.

Except when friends are asses…and then…not so touchy, feely.

I think I’ve always held an “outside of the box” understanding of friends.  I’ll admit I pay very little attention to the “rules and categories” of friends (in sociology, we’d call these normative constructions…god I am a nerd).  So, I approach people first and then consider what’s going on in their lives.  This explains how I’m friends with very few people who are actually like me (single, female, grad student, etc) and I have more people around me who are just plain interesting first.  This bodes well for them (you); if I’m your friend, it means I’m really invested in you as a person…it’s not a friendship of convenience because our “categories” seem to match up.  I think that’s the difference between friends and acquaintances…acquaintances are convenient and pretty transitory as the “categories” of your life shift, sometimes rapidly.  Changing jobs, moving, graduating…acquaintances won’t follow you through those.  Friends, however, will.  This is Katie P.’s friend/acquaintance ratio.
Admittedly, it’s intense.  It makes friends an investment…which can be work…but usually doesn’t seem that way…or shouldn’t.

But I’ll tell ya, when friends are asses by upsetting the friend/acquaintance ratio, it does not feel good.  Part of the problem with my ratio is that not many naturally buy into it; most people do not approach friendships in this “to hell with categories” kind of way.  I think because most normal people don’t live 95% in their heads–as I do.  They don’t analyze their friends…they’re just friends.

Anyway, I have a friend who’s freaking out right now.  He’s in a bad place.  And yesterday, I think maybe out of fear or frustration…or stroke…basically explained to me that I’m just a friend of convenience–when in fact, I know this to be completely untrue. It’s a special day when someone you’ve really come to know as a really good friend looks you in the eye and tells you that when the time should come that you’re not in close proximity, you just can’t, or worse won’t,  be friends.  There is nothing more frustrating–because of it’s degree of ridiculousness–than this idea.

I could go on for hours about this.  I’ve worried about it enough and come to the conclusion that it’s just simply not true. My arm chair psychologist inside tells me this is an existential freakout of his not mine and has really very little actually to do with me. But, you know, above anything else I think friendship is an agreement between two people, implicit or sometimes explicit, to choose the other.  It’s one of the more tenuous kinds of agreements too–friends don’t take vows (unless you count pinkie swears), or “commit” to anything.  It’s all assumed agreements and searches for setting up good and secure boundaries.  It’s shady work sometimes.  This is why I think trusting friends can be very hard…it’s an enormous leap of faith that can be changed tomorrow based on a lot of factors.  So…this conversation…so out of character and far away from my understanding of the situation…it’s annoying. And disrupting.  And stupid.

What an ass.

Wow.  Two weeks since the last post.  A lot’s been going on recently.  Andras left Chicago, I kicked out my dissertation proposal (yes, out of order…I’m not done with special fields yet), choir’s up and running, and today in Chicago, fall arrived.  Actually, with howling winds and a dramatic drop in temperature, it rampaged in.  And away we go.  Tomorrow will be Thanksgiving and I’ll wonder where the fall went.

But in all of this flurry of things, I’ve been looking for solace in the steadiness, or maybe steadfastness, of some things that never seem to change.  Nothing is ever static, obviously, unless it’s not animate.  But, since I’ve been fairly drama-free lately (and I have no problem with that), I’ve been able to stand as the outsider and look in to other’s life issues…and begin to see that they’re cyclical.  We’re happy then we’re sad.  We love and then we don’t…and then we do again.  We’re excited and then depressed. And when we think we’ve had enough of something, either good or bad, that something changes…but in predictable ways.  I’ve been re-fascinated by the cyclical ways in which we work even when we know it and we know what’s coming.  We are so predictable and yet never really seem to learn or to let go.

Yesterday I was at the Alpha Sigma Nu induction…finally, the Jesuits thought I was honorable enough to pay them $75 to wear a medallion at graduation…what can I say…it was a vendetta from my Marquette days.  Anyway, the speaker reminded me of a quote from one of the Jesuit martyrs that I think is interesting.  He said:

We are not human beings looking for a spiritual experience.  We are spiritual beings embedded in a human experience.

For some reason, it really spoke to me yesterday, especially in the light of all of these cycles I’ve been watching: some of self-destruction, some of loss, some of finding joy, some searching for love.  I think de Chardin is right.  The spiritual side of us, that which cannot be seen by observing us in our physical presence, is why we do what we do.  If it were all rational and logical, we’d never choose to repeat some of the things we do.

So I guess it’s funny that in all of these changes I see happening so rapidly, that it’s really just a coming around the mountain again.  In fact, I’ve probably written about this very thing already…several times.

We never really change.  We are the steady in a context that moves around us and carries us with it.  We respond. But do we change?