Let’s face it, even though I put on a brave front and shout out something like “Bring it on, you idiot!”, I’m just as vulnerable as a hermit crab without a shell at times. If you haven’t seen me down, then count yourself lucky. You didn’t have to be the recruiter who I unintentionally broke down in front of, my elementary school teacher who told me “Don’t cry,” when I wrote in the wrong book or my tearstained pillow this year.
I’m talking about that dreaded C-word: change.
We’re all afraid of change. My mother described to me a back-up plan that went something like this, “We’ll sell the house if your father’s job goes.” I replied, “I’m not scared.”
The truth is, I’m not scared of selling the house or if my father’s current job is no longer. The thing I’m afraid of is change.
Most of us are scared of little, puny rounded small pieces of metal. We don’t want to carry it around. We don’t want to accept the change. We keep deluding ourselves that this shiny piece of plastic is going to solve all our problems.
On the way back from another job interview the other day, I sat in a taxi with my mother. Our conversation was a simple exchange of laughter and words, yet extremely memorable.
“You don’t need a lot of money to be happy. Money does not make you happy.”
We talked a lot more about the recent tax hikes, the high prices of gas (and everything else) and returning to our hometowns (well, his hometown. My hometown is still this land I stand on). Then came time to pay, so my mother took out her wallet. The meter read $6.40.
He said, “Just give me $6. You’re happy, I’m happy.”
“I’ll give you $7. Then we’re all happy.”
“Ah, you’re good. You’re good.”