Surrendering and Meeting My Challenges

A little over a month ago, I moved into a new home. This new place is the childhood dream coming true, and yet I found myself struggling to adjust. The city is now a 20-minute drive away — meaning even the grocery store is no longer just around the corner. When I step outside, there’s no need to grab my keys or lock the door; stepping outside itself is just a single step. And although the house is familiar to me, being here full-time is still different from just spending weekends — where and how things find their places, where and how I myself settle in, how our little daily habits begin to align. Strange as it may seem, even good and long-awaited situations require adjustment. When it comes to uncomfortable situations, we’re usually prepared — cautious, attentive, awake — but in pleasant situations, that wakefulness often fades away.

My cat also got a new home. All new, as we know, is unfamiliar and therefore frightening. After all, it wasn’t a free or anticipated choice of hers as it was for me. In the past, car rides have been difficult and stressful for her, so every time I put her in the carrier, she gets anxious — to the point of peeing inside the carrier. She was nervous this time too. But after a while, I noticed a kind of surrender in her — the kind that says, “All right, I’ll see where these winds will take me.” And I noticed relaxation (but not giving up). She still meowed, but less — as if just to remind both of us that she still had an opinion. This time, the half-hour car ride passed without any incidents — and without any peeing.

In the new home, I saw her curiously yet cautiously make her first round through the room. Every part of her was alert, every muscle tense. After a while she retreated into the dark corner of the bathroom to observe — calm, yet fully present and awake down to the tip of her fur. After gathering herself and finding some courage, she set out again. She was careful, yes, attentive to everything, ready to hide at any moment, but also curious. The fear was still there, but it didn’t seem to dominate her. It kept her awake and aware, but it didn’t paralyze her.

If everything around us is a mirror, then I must take a look into the mirror myself. Anxiety, discomfort, tension, fear, hope, joy, curiosity, anticipation — to my own surprise, the whole spectrum went through me. My past decisions have led me into this current whirlwind of change. When making decisions, we often don’t fully realize what they will mean or bring with them. But a decision made in the past can’t be undone now — so inevitably, I must face its consequences. At worst, I could bury my head in the sand and blame the world around me (for whatever reason), but I still can’t run away from these challenges — whether good or not so good. The only choice I really have is to go with the change or resist it. Change will happen anyway. The only difference is how I feel in the midst of it.

I notice that a part of me is still stuck in the old — as if reluctant to let go. Another part of me is already out exploring new paths, doing, dreaming, creating — already transforming that which I haven’t even fully accepted yet. And then, there’s that one part sitting in the dark corner of the room, staring into the eyes of the unknown that has just arrived, trying to adapt. Sure, I could have chosen not to make decisions, not to change anything in my life. Would that have made things easier? Probably not. Watching my cat, I realize that my main “weapon” is my ability to respond — how I meet the situation I’ve placed myself in. I could curl up in that corner, but at some point, I’ll still have to come out and act. So why not surrender — explore my surroundings, try to understand what I’m facing, and meet my challenges head-on?

With warmth, Anu