Today I am thankful for impermanence.
Perhaps it is western culture, or American culture, that sees things as sad if they don't last forever. How many times have any one of us thought, "if I could just get rich, life would be better," or read a story to our child that ended with "... and they all lived happily ever after?" Largely, happiness is seen as a destination rather than a choice. Very few people see life as a roller coaster or an ocean with both stillness and turbulent waves. I tend to forget that that is what it truly is, especially in the best and worst of times.
Impermanence also scares us. It does so because it tells us we can't control what is going to happen. One of my children could die and I might not be able to stop it. I could lose my house in a fire. Perhaps I could be wrongfully accused of a crime or be a victim of a crime myself. I could fall in love and maybe that person will break my heart. A friend could betray me, no matter how good I tried to be to them.
I am grateful for impermanence because it allows for endless variables. And if we believe in a merciful Creator, we can have faith that nothing in the future can truly harm us to an irreparable degree, and it's power is limited to a small blip in time. A woman in her 70's talked to me in a store the other day. "Savor every moment," she said, "it all goes by so fast. Pretty soon you will be me, and your babies will be in their 40's."
Impermanence allows us to hold on when things feel hopeless. Sometimes all we have to keep us going is the notion that our situation cannot last forever. The injustice we feel. This month's pressing financial demands. The flu. The 8th grade school year. Funeral plans. The mouse infestation. Gas prices. The cold season. Head lice. Even cancer doesn't last forever.
Active labor during childbirth is the best example for me. When I was in so much pain I felt like I couldn't bear it (right after I told my midwife, "give me an epidural or a c-section or shoot me in the head...") I got a gentle reminder that eventually the pain would end. The pain meant I was that much closer to meeting my son. I would be leaving with a baby. When I am in pain I don't always get the luxury of knowing when it will end or if the pain will get worse, or what my "baby" is in the end. But I can look back on my life and reflect that the times I thought would never end, eventually did.
Impermanence allows me to appreciate the fragility of my own being. I'm a makeup artist and had had a particularly busy day. When I went home I was exhausted, laying in bed and felt a sharp pain shoot through the inside of my right arm. It took that to realize that my entire livelihood depends on the use of my hands. And my eyes. And my ability to stand. I might not be able to do all those things, or any of those things, one day. But I can today, and I'm thankful for that.
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