During a Skype conversation with two of my Perugia roommates yesterday, we somehow fell into talking about snakes.
Snakes.
I was telling the girls about my encounter with a Black Racer in Wellfleet last summer. These snakes are relatively common in Massachusetts. They are black (who would've thought) and the ones we see with the kids at camp tend to be young and relatively small. However, adult Black Racers can grow up to around six feet long. Or longer. And of course, as luck would have it, my encounter was with a snake of the six-foot variety.
On this muggy day last August, ten six-year-olds were skipping along in line behind me during a marsh walk. Several of them were chattering about their favorite Disney princesses. I turned around to comment on my connection to Belle when I glimpsed a dark flash out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head just in time to witness a snake's behind thrashing into a shrub.
I must have jumped a little, because I was not accustomed to such unexpected encounters with snakes at camp. Normally, you can hear one slithering through dead leaves or skulking around a log before you actually see it. But they don't call these snakes "racers" for nothing. None of the other kids had even noticed the snake as it shot by, and I silently scanned the bush for another glimpse. What a cool moment this could be for the kids if I can find it, I thought to myself. But the snake was too quick. It had disappeared. Or so I thought, for all of about ten seconds. I turned to continue on the path when I saw it shimmy up a tree. UP A TREE. Now the kids are starting to notice. The snake's head is raised as it silently seeks out its prey (or at least I think that's what he's doing). He nearly nabs a squirrel right in front of us. We have accidentally found ourselves in a nature documentary.
As quickly as it appeared, the snake is once again out of sight. Now I'm a little freaked out. While I was indifferent to snakes before now, I know he is still somewhere above my head. Feeling somewhat unsettled by the snake's unknown location at this point, I shepherd the kids back to the path and we continue on. I never saw that snake again.
I laughed at my friends' shocked faces as I summed up this dramatic tale: "I am not afraid of snakes, as long as I can see what they're up to!"
This story of the snake is very much connected to my feelings at the moment. If I had a dollar for every time I've been asked "How does it feel to be graduated?" in the last few weeks, I'd be able to pay off my impending student loans in a jiffy. But the truth is, I feel the same. I was not particularly emotional leaving school (and this is coming from the crier.) I am attributing my current (and very surprising) go-with-the-flow mentality to the fact that I know my plans for at least the next year: graduate school.
While I often still feel like a mystery even to myself, I am very aware of a few of my most inherent tendencies, one of which is my fear of the unknown. But my fears are often eased (at least slightly) when I have some idea about what is to happen. The situation or coming event can be completely unknown to me, but if I can at least somewhat prepare, if I have at least some window into the future, I feel better. Although a rough comparison, I think this is why the snake in the tree really frightened me. A snake on the ground? No matter. I don't even care if it bites me. (Okay, maybe I care a little bit. Although apparently Black Racers rarely bite out of self-defense. They poop on you instead.) At least the snake on the ground gives me some sense of control, some idea of what's about to happen. A hidden snake in a tree a dozen feet above my head? A little scarier. The future when we have no idea what's about to happen, when the coming months or weeks or even days lie far outside our sight, our line of vision? That can be downright terrifying.
In conversations I've been having with friends, it has come to my attention that many of our fears surrounding "growing up" have almost everything to do with uncertainty. When will we finally land an interview or job? What will a relationship with a significant other look like post-college? Should we stay or go? Who are we, really?
I'm starting to realize that it is useless to worry about uncertainty, because just when you think you have your life figured out, things change. In fact, change is inevitable. Life can throw a major curve ball in a year, a month, or even a second. I could write an essay about these "curve balls" in my own life. (In fact, I have.) The truth is, my life looks absolutely nothing like I thought it would when I started college almost four years ago. Many of these detours have been overwhelmingly positive. But with life can come unmet expectations and disappointed hopes. And we've all faced plenty of those.
Unexpected, abrupt changes can leave us scrambling. We don't even have time to process what is happening at the time, so we are left to pick up the pieces later. As someone who spends a substantial amount of time in my own thoughts, I feel particularly vulnerable to these effects. I wonder if I missed something, if I could have changed the situation. Or whether I should have known what was ahead before the sharp turn landed itself right smack-dab in my rear view mirror (or side mirrors, as the case may be.) I am stuck reflecting on the past.
But while certain changes can be abrupt, many aren't. Just two weeks ago, on my first beach day of the summer, I walked from the parking lot down to the water to an incredible sight - the beach did not look the same! The water had moved the rocks all the way up a small cliff. This normally rocky beach was sandy! This movement had likely been happening all year, but, having not been to this beach in nine months, this change was unknown to me.
I realize that I've gradually evolved too, but this certainly did not happen overnight. My becoming more comfortable with adapting to new environments, for example, took four years of college and four months in a foreign country. (Studying abroad, in fact, proved to be the perfect example of gradual yet noticeable change.) My shyness surrounding acting as my own advocate gradually dissipated as I learned to flourish at a large university.
Although anticipatory dread has plagued my thoughts in the past, I am gradually learning to embrace change. What I've learned? Just take it in stride. Take time to learn about myself. If something is not in my control, maintain a positive outlook and figure it out. If something is in my control and I like it? Keep going. If I don't like it and I
can have control? Figure out how to change it.
Is it always that clear? No, of course not. Definitely not. Or I wouldn't be scared sh*tless when I think about starting a new chapter.
But I'm excited. So excited. Because to me, change looks less like a snake than it used to. One of my favorite quotes is this: "If there was no change, there would be no butterflies." Now there's an image.
