I’ve always thought I was pretty adaptable. You know, the kind of person who rolls with the punches, keeps calm under pressure, and sees change as an opportunity rather than a stress-induced rash waiting to happen.
This is a lie I told myself for years. I realized the truth when I tried to “pivot” into a new life chapter, and instead ended up binge-watching “The Sopranos” while eating White Cheddar Cheez Itz out of the box, muttering “this is temporary” like a sleep-deprived mom as she endures her 3-year-old’s hysterics.
Here’s the thing: Change sounds sexy in theory. You imagine yourself emerging from the cocoon of your past like a majestic butterfly, fluttering into your new life with grace and purpose. But real-life change is less butterfly, more confused moth, head-butting a porch light at 2 am.
“I assumed that once I got settled, motivation would show up like a pizza delivery guy… ”
Take, for example, my recent transition from a very quiet mountain home, where elk occasionally wandered past my window, to a suburban neighborhood, where the wildest creature is a very enthusiastic Golden Doodle named Carl. And I brought my three dogs—Miles, Woodrow and Luna—none of whom have grasped the concept of “heel,” “quiet,” or “please don’t poop on the neighbor’s grass.”
I assumed that once I got settled, motivation would show up like a pizza delivery guy—maybe late, but still warm. I waited. And waited. And when inspiration didn’t knock, I Googled things like “How to get motivated when all you want is buttered toast” and “Is existential dread a phase or a personality?”
This is when I stumbled upon that ancient quote, often attributed to Buddha—though, let’s be honest, probably first printed on a mug in Sedona: “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” And just like that, I had an epiphany: Aha! I am not lazy or uninspired. I am simply… not ready. Glorious! A spiritual loophole!
I declared this new philosophy aloud while standing in the kitchen, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and wearing unmatched socks. “I’m waiting for readiness. Buddha says it’s fine.” My dogs blinked in unison. I took this as support.
Now I had a solid excuse to do nothing. And by “nothing,” I mean everything except the things I truly wanted to do—write, create, move forward. I rearranged the pantry. I made elaborate smoothies and then forgot to drink them. I downloaded meditation apps and ignored their gentle reminders like a true spiritual rebel. I even opened a blank Google doc and titled it “New Chapter.” It sat empty for four weeks.
Eventually, I had to admit that maybe “not being ready” was just my inner perfectionist in a clever disguise. I was waiting to feel a lightning bolt of inspiration, a sign, a divine shove. But it turns out, change doesn’t come with a thunderclap; it sneaks in through the side door, while you’re distracted trying to fix the Wi-Fi.
So I tried a different approach. I stopped waiting to be ready and started being just… slightly willing. I wrote one bad sentence. Then another. I walked the dogs without earbuds and noticed I was breathing. I spoke gently to and watered the flowers in my garden who were wilting from thirst.
Motivation, as it turns out, is like a cat. It only comes when you stop chasing it and pretend you don’t care. And while Buddha may have been wise, I think he underestimated how many “students” are still curled up in fuzzy blankets, checking their phones and waiting for “the teacher” to show up with a pep talk and maybe a scone.
The truth is, sometimes you are the teacher. Sometimes it’s just you, showing up in your own imperfect, bed-headed gloriousness, deciding to try something rather than nothing. Even if it’s just finally writing a sentence that makes you snort.
So here I am. Slightly readier. Mildly motivated. Still wearing unmatched socks, but now with a little more hope. Because maybe change doesn’t feel good. Maybe it’s awkward and itchy and full of panic-ridden moments. But eventually, with enough patience (and friend/family support), it starts to feel like the new normal.
And that’s enough for today. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll even drink the smoothie.
