I’ve had the pleasure of watching of the sunset every night since I’ve been home for the summer. It’s something I miss when I’m at school—locking myself in the library until I realize it is way past dinner time. It wasn’t even something I realized I missed.
I could try to describe the sunsets I’ve seen, but it would be nothing original. The delicate strokes of pink and orange woven between sparse clouds, light blues turning dark as night hovers above me. It’s always beautiful and it’s always changing. And the most amazing thing about that change is that I’m never able to see it happening. I mean, I see it all around me, but I never see the in between scenes—the phases, the little changes—that produce each stage of the sunset. One minute the sky is on fire, the next, it has gone silent.
And there’s a lot more change happening all around me that I frequently miss; my little brother surpassing me in height, the apartment buildings and bars popping up on every corner of my once quaint hometown, the now shaky steps my Grandpa takes with his cane. I’m rarely aware of changes in myself—especially physical ones. Internal changes, however, I’ve been paying more attention to.
What’s funny about change, at least to me, is that it’s inevitable and impossible all at once. Appearances change, of course. People grow and age just as plants and animals do, the pavement on the streets cracks and crumbles, windows get dirty, dust collects, and all these things are inevitable. Non-physical changes—changes of the mind and heart—are seemingly less imminent.
“People don’t change.” This is something I’ve heard and seen a hundred times in a hundred ways. “People can change” is the hopeful counter argument. All of the physical, external changes happen on their own—they are inevitable. But the internal changes, those don’t happen without another factor. People may change their ways after they experience tragedies, miracles; but if you hadn’t experienced or understood something so marvelous, inexplicable, or harrowing, would you feel the need to change? People don’t change their minds because they learn the scientific data, but they may change because of the way they are directly affected by a thing.
This past semester of college I felt forced to change. Forced by the reality I was confronted with: I needed to be better.
A better friend, a better listener, more compassionate, more empathetic and understanding, more aware. I was so trapped in my own bubble of consciousness that I was totally oblivious to the feelings and needs of those closest to me. I was looking at people, but I was not seeing them. That reality hit me hard. In my eyes, nothing had been wrong. It took one of my best friends begging me to actually open my eyes to realize I needed to change. She cried and her voice shook and her eyes were empty and I sat that there thinking, “How could I be so horrible?” I had no explanation other than that’s just who I am as a person—unempathetic, pragmatic, so driven that I was unable to widen my scope. But that was my problem, that was what needed to change.
I knew this change would not come easy for me. My nature of being so task-driven, practical, and straight up type-A, makes it hard for me to slow down, be patient, and express my own emotions openly. But I was hurting people I cared about with my lack of awareness and that sparked my desire to change.
I do think people can change, but it’s not as simple as the transition from day to night; it’s not something everyone can see, it’s not fast, and it’s not something we can rely on. But it is possible.
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