I recently bought some large bookshelves for my small room. And even though I had to totally rearrange and remove furniture that I had had in there for years – things that I was so utterly familiar and comfortable with that it seemed like they were extensions of the walls themselves – the new additions immediately felt right as I began moving my stacks of books onto the shelves. It was time for it – time to make those college textbooks, epic novels, and heaps of language books that had been tucked away under the bed more accessible so I could finally get around to leafing through those classics I’d promised myself I’d read and cracking down on language study I’d promised I’d keep up. It was, at last, time to put these things front and center so that I would finally work on my (admittedly long-unacted-upon) goals.  

But being so eager to dispatch that familiar furniture struck me as an odd feeling for someone who historically has been described as inordinately sentimental about inanimate objects. Shouldn’t I be sad to be getting rid of that chest of drawers? Bereaved to pack away that junk whose purpose was long ago forgotten? To at least be nostalgic about the things I’d collected over the years that were now destined for donation? As I struggled to sort through those conflicting feelings while tidying those “novel” shelves, it got me thinking about our potential for adaptability and growth.

During the early years in the company, before we were working full-time, I had the opportunity to work overseas as an assistant English as a Foreign Language teacher. I lived in a small town in rural Japan and would travel between a few assigned elementary and junior high schools in my area to teach English. The schools I went to were typically very small and were usually waaaay up in the mountains, so every day, I would walk out the door into the misty morning and jump in the toaster on wheels that served as my tiny car and blow out my speakers blasting some 80s hair metal as I drove for 30 minutes to an hour to work, cruising through a rolling river valley and dense, old-growth forest while dodging logging trucks passing along the one-lane roads as I went. In short, I was in an entirely different environment than I had ever experienced growing up in Arizona! Not only that, but with the changing of the seasons, the festivals, the school activities, and the constant progression of lessons – not to mention getting to know all of my students, colleagues, and community members, as well as navigating all the cultural differences – it was always an ever-changing whirl of new experiences. Something life-defining.

And though I was only there for a short time, inexplicably, in what felt like no time at all, those fields and valleys, schoolhouses, and communities came to easily and naturally feel like home. Looking back, years later, there’s still this sense of connection; A longing to watch the morning mists on the mountains, to drive those long-winding forest roads, to idly chat about baseball with my colleagues in the staff room, and of course, to while away endless afternoons playing games with the kids. I am astounded by how much change I went through – not only during the experience but since I’ve returned to work in a completely unrelated field of employment. My life is so completely different. Though I made it back to Arizona and live a comparable life to what I was doing before my time in Japan, it’s nowhere near the same – my perceptions, my habits, my knowledge and experiences all attest to colossal change. From the friends I made, to the books I’m reading, to the dinners I cook at night, the experience of living in Japan has profoundly changed my life and has allowed me to view change and growth in a more profound way.

Change can be frightening. It can be uncomfortable or even downright hard. But sometimes, when we purposefully cultivate positive growth experiences or work to change our mindsets when we are met with adversity, the growth we undergo may lead us to crave change. Even in completely different environments – in completely different lives – we can learn to thrive. And sometimes, when those experiences end, and we find we are left with a new sense of self as we move on to the next step in our lives, that growth we nurtured begins to bloom.

While travel is a unique and invigorating experience that is an easy example to point to, I think that even as we grow day by day in our “normal” lives, we can still see evidence of how we are changing. If we work for it, each day we are able to grow into new habits, new connections, and new roles. And as we go, we re-evaluate what will help us make progress and continue to grow into the people we want to be. And while we might hit snags or bump a toe on an unfamiliar new piece of furniture in the night as we rearrange the rooms in our lives, we ultimately arrive at those things that let us continue to shape ourselves for the better and fondly remember the things that helped create these new versions of ourselves. And sometimes, when our growth spurs us to move onto those new things, it can suddenly feel very right. – Decker