The New Normal

I was going to write a piece after the Orlando shooting, but Brexit happened before I could corral my thoughts. Then I was going to write about Brexit, but Istanbul happened before I could corral my thoughts, so it seems pointless to bother given whatever comes next. I have no idea what the next thing may be, but that it will come is inevitable.

Closer to home, Ter and I have spent the last year—maybe two … or three—surfing the wave of change both in the house and at the office. New neighbours, new colleagues, new babies, new technology, new projects … and more change on the horizon. No wonder we’re fried. I stubbornly believed that things will settle down, but lately I’ve come to the dreadful conclusion that they won’t. Worse, not all change is an improvement, so not only must I roll with it, I must shut up and play my guitar. Resistance may be futile, but I prefer change to make sense.

However, I was pretty proud of myself for maintaining both my cool and encouraging others to relax while we rode a rough patch at the office last week. I was regaling Ter with tales of our acceptance and flexibility when I received written notice that the local branch of my bank is closing in the fall—and I lost my mind. Freaked out. Rose up on my hocks and waved my forefeet in defiance of yet another frustrating and unexpected unravelling of my reality. I was so pissed that it’s as hilarious in retrospect as it is proof that the little things will break you.

It doesn’t help that everyone from Gregg Braden to David Usher is citing change as the new normal. Stability is on the way out and the future is too volatile to predict. Old standards no longer apply and new ones haven’t been developed yet. They’re in process, but everything and everyone is moving so fast that they can’t keep up with themselves. I can’t keep up.

I realized this during my week off. A disheartening discovery at first, until I realized I don’t want to keep up; I have to keep up in some ways, especially at work, but in my real life, the heck with it. I’m all for packing up and moving to the country, where I can live in solitude from the frenetic energy of a 21^st century urban existence.

I’ll take Ter with me, of course. Even an introvert requires some social interaction and F***book doesn’t cut it. Imagine the pace of everyday life dialled back a few degrees. Walks in the woods and reading by a lake. Occasional forays to the farmer’s market and stopping for tea at a local café. Afternoon naps. Staying up late to see the stars. Seeing the stars! Bubble baths in a clawfoot tub. Live theatre. Nature’s music.

Now, there’s a change worth pursuing.