The imperceptible drift of change
...in which I open my eyes I am surprised to find that I am no longer where I was when I began.
I am at a thermal spa, in an underground pool where you float. Here, the body doesn’t work against gravity—at least, it doesn’t have to. But being used to a steady state of pushing, pulling, and resisting gravity just to keep head above water, the first time you’re in this pool is a learning experience. The body has to relearn itself; relearn trust; become comfortable with the idea that letting go won’t lead to drowning.
Once the body learns the new rules and parameters of this pool, you can sleep. Or just float. I close my eyes and disappear into stasis, my new normal. When I open my eyes I am surprised to find that I am no longer where I was when I began. I have drifted imperceptibly some 10 feet, carried on the gentle currents created by the movements of others as they enter and leave the pool, as their own bodies adjust.
Not all change is sudden or dramatic. Much of it is undetectable as it occurs, recognizable only in reference to something else. I open my eyes and am looking at a different part of the ceiling above me. This is how I understand that my position has changed.
Not all change is sudden or dramatic. Much of it is undetectable as it occurs, recognizable only in reference to something else.
We need others for reference. We also need acts of creation through which we can reference our other selves. By revisiting things we wrote, created, or made at some time previous, we access past versions of ourselves. These moments bring us into focus; they show us how far and in what direction we have moved. When we can understand something new about ourselves—when we understand our new selves—then we can apply intention to what happens next.
Sometimes, the most valuable feedback is not criticism but a mirror: Look! This is who you (or your brand, your project, your team, your organization) are today—what do you think of it? And then sometime later: See here? This is who you are now—do you remember where you were when we began?
Being that reference point is a fulfilling part of the work I do as a strategy consultant: showing and reminding clients that they have journeyed from one place to this one—that they are still on a journey. Nudging them a little as they float in their new normal so that every now and then, they blink open their eyes and notice they aren’t where they were before.
How did I get here?
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how many seemingly disparate threads of a mostly unplanned life trajectory braided together into who, what, and where I am today. Recent feedback from colleagues made me realize how four threads make their way into the interviewing and facilitation work I do today. I wrote about those here.
How did you get here?
How have different aspects of your life experience, perhaps imperceptibly, brought you to the place you are now? Tell me …
Thank you, a beautifully written gift. I could picture myself in a floating pool called the Liquidrom in Berlin. You're right we need to bump into people to know where we are.
Another similar experience is that sound bounces off walls and objects around us. If you closed your eyes or can't see anything, it's these objects or reference points that will help triangulate where you are in space.
And then at other times, we need no walls, objects or people around. When we are suspended in the void we can create freely, not always second guessing ourselves or worried what other people think.