Becoming Human

Change is good. Right? If we don’t do it, parts of us atrophy and die. When we do change, we still die, but we die better. Transitions by our hand, our choice, empower. Change thrust upon us by others, makes us nervous and angry. We feel at the mercy of. These unexpected, unseen trajectories arrive in every shape and color, the good, the bad, the ugly; the grandiose, the silent, the disappointing. Transitions reformulate the entire body, making us more human. The gnarly ones, the ones displacing an known life create scar tissue.

Scar tissue is a by-product of evolving. Whether through joy or fear, big events leave their mark. Happy events mark us like an intriguing tattoo. You never look at it without remembering when: You won first prize, got married, had your first child, got your favorite job. These are softer transitions, yet they force us off an old road toward different horizons. They make us more human in shared hope and happiness. It is the others, the ones we don’t wish to remember, that are grist for our deeper humanity. These bad boys seek us out as we hide like shivering rabbits on the side of the road. The longer and harder we hide, the more grandiose the change delivering our humanity.

Most scar tissue is invisible. Rumi knew this when he wrote; “What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are the quest.” Good to know and important to remember when old boundaries, and safety nets disappear. Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. How can it not be formed from a regenerative drive for survival. Scars, invisible and visible, are signatures of growth coming through loss and discomfort. The Grandmother said, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

When I stand before the Grandmother, I say this: “I will be what I was and more. Do not confuse me with who you knew before, for you now find me scarred from another metamorphosis. My only fear is a dream left by the road. But I hear the music of Orpheus and will not look back. I will not cling to what was, nor wish to be less scarred. It is my heritage. I listen to new songs, and dream the will of heaven.