Transformation
I want to become who I am meant to be in this world.
To reach my potential or whatever.
But I do not want the pain of transformation.
I do not want the loneliness of transformation.
I do not want the loss of transformation.
If I am honest, I really don’t want to look back and realize how much sooner I needed to transform before I actually did.
I just want to be transformed.
I want the Cinderella / Fairy Godmother moment where Cinderella’s beauty is revealed.
Even though it was pretty dang obvious before she wore the dress.
In the blink of an eye. With some glitter maybe, too. And music… you gotta add music.
That way everyone knows the transformation has happened.
Does it even count as a transformation without those things?
Without a big reveal?
Without an audience?
Without a dress and glitter and music and a really uncomfortable looking shoe?
I used to love watching The Biggest Loser.
You’d watch contestants work out and diet and compete as teams to lose the most weight each week.
They did some crazy competitions and even crazier workouts in an effort to lose weight.
But at the end of the competition, there were no longer teams.
Just three individuals competing for the title of Biggest Loser. T
he finale was live. And there were about three months between the last taping and the finale.
Three months for the contestants to work at home, on their own, continuing their weight loss. W
hen we would see those contestants after those ninety days — which felt like just one week to us as viewers — we would be shocked by how different they looked.
Week to week during the show, they didn’t look all that different even though the scale was going down.
But those three months?
Those three months of transformation none of us got to see.
Those were the months that drastically changed their appearance.
And then when the winner is announced, the crowd erupts. Confetti flies. Music blares.
They are handed a giant check with an obscene dollar amount on it.
Their family and friends rush the stage to hug them.
And viewers at home shed tears of joy and pride for people we do not know accomplishing their goals and transforming their lives.
I might transform into who I am supposed to be quicker if that is what happens when I arrive.
You may find me running toward transformation if I knew what was waiting for me at the end.
But you won’t find me running. It’s much more likely you will find me under a weighted blanket on the couch binge watching Love is Blind than running toward transformation.
Because transformation is quiet.
It often requires loss.
Or failure.
The catalyst for transformation is usually not fun.
It is rarely a rescue moment like Cinderella.
And it usually doesn’t end with a large audience of onlookers crying with pride.
It rarely ends with a giant check either.
Transformation requires a breakdown.
It requires undoing something.
In the same way that to really organize your house, you have to empty every drawer and cabinet and start from scratch — making your home look like a bomb went off instead of looking like your goal.
Current environment: A bomb must have gone off in here.
Goal that made it look like this: Organization.
Seems counterproductive.
And yet it is usually the most efficient way to organize.
Mess it up first.
But there is a reason I don’t wake up many Sunday mornings and think, “I think I’ll organize today.”
Because I know that is no small task.
Instead, I say things like: “I need to organize.”
Every week.
For well over a year.
So at least 52 times.
Before I actually do it.
And then when I finally do it, I think: “I should have done that sooner.”
Rinse and repeat forever.
So what’s the point, Maggie?
Great question.
I’m not entirely sure.
I am not suggesting you seek out loss or grief or failure.
But I am suggesting that you live.
That you love.
That you forgive.
That you try. T
hat you get out from underneath the weighted blanket every now and then and seek.
Seek knowledge.
Seek experience.
Seek other people.
Seek God.
The loss and grief and failure will come either way.
And so will the transformation.
You may not have a crowd applauding you.
You may not have a dress and shoes and sparkles to signal that you have arrived.
But you will feel yourself change.
And if you remain open, you will become who you are meant to be.
In each season of life.
For each version of you.
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