on surrendering to change

Your stories on the topic are welcome and can be shared through the comment section.

My hair has always shed profusely. Dark, thick, curly hair that I cut into bangs just to straighten, burn, and miss the curls. Now, sitting in my boyfriend’s parents' dining room, I spot a clump of my hair in the corner. Oops.

Shedding hair, shedding skin. I remember peeling sunburns as a kid, fearing my skin would never grow back. Now, I worry my writing won’t come back after a few weeks off.

We have twelve more days in Yonkers before moving into our first apartment in Brooklyn. I’ve dreamt of being this in love, this secure, this confident in a future. Now that I am, I’m paralyzed by change. I got what I wanted—so now what? Fantasies don’t come with a five-year plan; they come with a stagnant destination that makes all forms of change feel daunting and rocky.

I find myself humming a song I wrote years ago with my dear friend Rachael as change presses on my chest. Neither of us ever put this song out, but I’ve held onto the lyrics: “If change is who I am, why am I afraid? I hear the growth is worth the pain, but am I ready?”

As I shed skin (and hair) and walk into the realities of my dreams, the music stays. Perhaps we shed to see what will always remain constant.

Speaking of change, we’ve moved to Substack! I wanted to ensure that the platform for these blogs accommodated conversation and, most importantly, your stories. I encourage you to comment and share your perspectives on each weekly prompt.

Oh! The clump of hair. I’ll toss that now.