Jenamorphosis

Spring is here and as I type this, I eat a dark chocolate Dove egg to celebrate. As I peel back its wrapper and partake of its goodness, I am witness to change all around me. The weather is warm, things are growing again. But amongst the changes, I feel an unsettling nagging of necessity telling me that I am not excluded.

I never feel a drop of desire to make New Year's resolutions. The year may be new but the earth is still hibernating, and so am I. I find that I become stagnant in the winter. The air is cold, the sun is barely visible. I become a hermit, which I am content to be. I get used to it. I'm warm with my many layers. So I'm always a little nervous when spring comes. It wakes me from my state of sleep i didn't realize I was in but I felt so comfortable. And now I feel the melancholy of winter begin to melt, and I am exposed.

I break free from my cave and closed-toed shoes, yet I warily step outside, not believing i'd have to shed my coat that's become so much a part of me. I feel this strange intense need to get new clothes and so I shop, something i don't really love. But i do it, almost automatically, as if it's instinct, like the emergence of a butterfly from a cocoon or the shedding of snake skin. It is when the ice breaks, the frost melts, and the sun, my forgotten friend, returns from its vacation in Argentina that I feel the first surge of newness in the year and I must decide what I will do with it.

There is change all around me and I feel the pressure. I am reminded that to everything there is a season, even for me. "Turn, turn, turn, Jen" it says. I see the trees blossoming, their bare limbs adorning their new attire, and I say, "My friends, what is going on? I thought we were hibernating together. My coat is so warm and fluffy. My socks are soft and keep my feet clean." But the trees are smarter than I, and without saying a word, show me why I must not stay as I am. "You're so beautiful," I cry. And scared as I am, i know i must follow. I must find ways to produce my own blossoms. I must shed my old self for my potential new one but for me, it is different. I must decide to do this. My metamorphosis is voluntary for i obtain not the inherent capacity like the trees or the caterpillars.

My new skin must reflect a change within myself, otherwise I am a dead tree with purchased blossoms that cannot clothe the stagnation inside. If I deny myself the change, I am allowing myself to remain stagnant, where I will then commence to rot. Now, the birds sing outside and I will allow their song to be echoed in my soul and inside my closet. I will venture out and leave what has been my protection, behind. I will go get new clothes.