Essay: On Gradual Changes

Around this time of year, I begin to catalog the many tiny changes that mean we are finally on the road to my favorite time of year: summer.  Just recently I noticed that rather than putting on my warm wool socks immediately upon crawling into bed, I had been going to sleep with my feet bare.  Instead of wearing both my warm flannel top and bottom pajamas I have switched out the flannel top for a long-sleeved cotton shirt.  Not only do I not immediately grope for my robe upon waking, I haven’t worn it in weeks.  And most importantly, I’ve stopped constantly checking the thermometer next to the thermostat to see just how cold it is in the house.  I haven’t turned on the heat for weeks.

So we’re on the upswing to warm weather, hallelujah!  And I’ve been thinking about how trying to make big changes in my habits and patterns follows a similar process. Just as the weather can’t change immediately from lows of 20 degrees to lows of 70 degrees, but instead must move slowly from one day to the next, so do my attempts at change make a transition at a pace that seems almost glacial.

Recently, I’ve been trying to get back into the habit of an early morning walk.  For most of last year I successfully rose early enough to wander around my neighborhood for a half hour.  I liked my walks because they ensured I had a minimum amount of fitness every day, I got to see the small changes in the neighborhood and they were good for my mental state.  The exercise was not difficult, and though it was hard to get out the door on those freezing cold days that just kept on coming last spring, I persevered and was rewarded on many levels.

At some point, I fell off the horse.  For some reason, remounting proved to be incredibly difficult.  For months I tried various strategies to wake myself, get up and out of bed and out the door.  I tried gradually moving back my waking time.  I tried going out for only fifteen minutes.  I tried plunging in and setting my alarm earlier.  I bought a dawn simulator. I made deals with myself that were continually broken.  It seemed I would never rise at 5:00am ever again.

Many years during Lent I assign myself a Lint Project.*  They generally have to do with self-improvement and some years are more successful than others.  This year part of my Lint Project was a 30-minute walk every day.  At first nothing changed.  I set the alarm, the alarm went off, I reset the alarm and no walk occurred.  Even three weeks into the project I wasn’t having very much success.  But something clicked near the end of the project and I’m headed back on track.  I haven’t made it out for a walk every morning, but there are more mornings that find me wandering than find me in bed.  It might have a lot to do with the return of the light.  Though sunrise still happens after I have returned home from my walk, there is at least the beginning of light when the alarm goes off.  But I also think it had a lot to do with my perseverance.  I wanted to get back outside and so I kept at it. 

A few days ago I came across this quote by Marian Wright Edelman in my quote pile:

We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee.

I was reminded of the many daily differences that deliver summer to me each year and the many daily differences that resulted in my change in early morning walk habits.

*So named because one of my first official Lint Projects was revitalizing my wardrobe during the season of Lent.  Because I don’t think improving the clothing in my closet is what the Christian season of Lent is all about, I renamed it the Lint Project.