“hey, little lady, how’s the big change?”
the words travelled across the street to where i was walking with my daughter. we were hauling bags full of snacks for her first week away at university. the voice belonged to a little man in sticky black leather overalls who hangs out in front of the local magic mushrooms dispensary. every time i see him, he asks me to tell him a story about something interesting that’s happening in my life.
looking over, i had to take a moment. for a 50-year-old woman, there’s only one big change that comes to mind and i was wondering why he was yelling about it for everyone to hear.
“the school, the school, ready for the school?” he was bouncing up and down, the leather tight around his knees, smiling, pointing at my daughter and reminding me that, when i saw him the day before, the something that was happening in my life was that she was leaving for school that weekend.
he had asked me if i liked it when things changed and i had said yes, change was good. cool, in fact. but as my daughter packed her suitcase and excitedly facetimed with friends who were leaving home too, making shopping lists that consisted of kettles, mini fridges and candy, it became clear that, while i may fancy myself as that slick just-roll-with-it person who likes — no, invites! — change and embraces new things with glee, i’m not quite that.