The Same and Different
When I look at a world map, I see that all the major bodies of water are connected. How is it that we have different oceans then? Where does the North Atlantic Ocean become the South Atlantic Ocean? Is there a specific spot where the South Pacific Ocean ceases and the South Atlantic begins? It all feels a bit nebulous to me.
I was thinking about this recently because I spent a week in the Dominican Republic with my mom. One afternoon we drove north and stood by the Atlantic Ocean. It was rough water with big waves. The color was dark blue and it didn’t look inviting to me. Of course, there were a few surfers enjoying the movement, but I preferred staying on the beach and just watching.
On another day we drove south where we found ourselves gazing at the Caribbean Sea. The water was so calm — the boats on the water were barely moving. Instead of dark and ominous, the water was light blue and turquoise. There were people swimming and relaxing in the warm, tropical water.
We drove 30 minutes one direction, 10 minutes in the other direction. By water the distance was probably even shorter. So, how, in such a short distance, did the water change that much? How did it go from huge waves to calm seas? How did it transform from deep blue to bright turquoise?
Where did the ocean end and the sea begin?
I see my life in the same way. And, although I’ve lived every single minute of this life so far, I’m not sure I can identify where one part of me ends and the other part begins.
There’s no clear delineation between Anne-before and Anne-after. Sure, there are some major events that shaped those two distinctions, but even with those dates on the calendar, it’s not like I became that version of Anne right away.
And, there isn’t one major thing that happened to separate this Anne from that Anne. There have been a variety of experiences, events and moments that each pushed me in one direction more than another.
Most recently the big thing was my infertility diagnosis. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. But, it’s not as if everything before that day ceased to be. I was still me. I still loved my husband and our dog. All of the experiences I’d lived up until that day were still part of who I am. My fears, joys, dreams and loves were still within my consciousness. I was still me.
And yet, I wasn’t.
Somewhere in the murky waters, I was slowly becoming that Anne even while hanging onto this Anne.
It’s like the views of the oceans from a few weeks ago. It was clear these were two different oceans when I looked at them separately, but at some point they converged. The water from that ocean is in this sea and vice versa. There isn’t a wall in the ocean separating the two. They are the same and different.
I get that — I am the same and different.
I am the same creative spirit I’ve been since childhood. The creations have changed, but not really that much. I still use thread and needle, scissors and glue. Instead of cross-stitch, I make quilts. Instead of decoupage, I make journal collages. The same and different.
I am the same musician I’ve always been. The mediums have changed, but the gifts have remained the same. Instead of band class with my clarinet, I have a guitar. Instead of choir performances, I “perform” in the car, while at the sewing machine or anywhere else I happen to be. The same and different.
I am the same nurturer that began when I was a small child. I don’t carry around dolls anymore or babysit every weekend. I don’t think about decorating a nursery or picking out baby names. In fact, I don’t hold babies much these days. However, I do care for others on a regular basis — our dogs, my family and friends. I sense when others need attention and I reach out. I have a compassionate heart, I just don’t have a child. The same and different.
Those changes didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t obvious when I became the new version of me. It was more subtle, a gradual flow from one place to another. The waters have mixed together and it’s hard to see where one ends and the other begins. It’s the same and different.
Trying to figure out how it all happened may not be worth my time or energy. Maybe what’s important is noticing the shifts, paying attention to the changes. No matter how this Anne or that Anne got here doesn’t matter. What matters is this: I’m here.
I’m here — the same and different.
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(She/Her)
The gal behind Held In The Heart. The Community Journal is a space for those who feel deeply to express freely. We explore all sorts of things here, from the real & raw healing stories & creative writing, to the funny & fleeting moments of everyday human life. I warmly welcome you and invite you to explore with us!