“Since death is certain, but the time of death is uncertain, what is the most important thing?” ― Pema Chödrön
“In the face of impermanence and death, it takes courage to love the things of this world and to believe that praising them is our noblest calling.” ― Joanna Macy
Childhood photos, the fleeting impression of a dream, flowers wilting on the kitchen table – reminders of impermanence are everywhere. Nevermind the grave reminders of the cemetery I walk through a few times each week. Changes, transitions and endings are the rules, not the exceptions. Though Western culture is hellbent on selling us eternal youth and everlasting love, our lived experiences reveal a different reality.
And yet, in the rhythm of my everyday life, as a relatively young and healthy person, I’m all too quick to lose sight of how changes, transitions and endings are personally relevant to my life. Somehow, it can be hard for me to connect the dots. I have a feeling I’m not alone in that. I wonder sometimes if asking ourselves to build a life, to commit to the things and people we love in this world requires us to forget, in some sense, the tenuous nature of existence?
Anitya is the Sanskrit word for impermanence or the ever-changing nature of things. It is named in Buddhist traditions as the first mark of existence. Buddhism teaches that the delusion of permanence results in suffering. The attachment to and expectation that things stay just as they are when everything is in flux (including ourselves) makes changes, transitions and endings much more difficult to be with. On the flipside, when we are experiencing suffering, it can be helpful to remember that the nature of all experience is to change. Even our suffering is not exempt. In a sense, there are no handholds beyond change itself.
Mindfulness practices of all sorts give us a direct experience of Anitya – paying close enough attention shows us that everything in the field of our experience comes and goes.
Sometimes reminders of impermanence hit me directly and unexpectedly. The other week, when a friend was describing an experience she had of travelling for work she matter-of-factly remarked: “that took six days of my life!” The statement struck me. First, as somehow peculiar. Six days felt like too small a unit of measurement, too granular. Maybe if it had taken a season – say, her whole summer – I wouldn’t have thought twice. But six days somehow seemed unremarkable, like an amount of time I would expect myself to swallow, especially for work. Was that really a unit of measurement to be concerned about?
“Six days of my life.” In the days following our conversation the phrase kept echoing in me. Of course. Of course each day is of inherent value. Of course how we spend our finite time here matters, down to the unit of a day. As I turned it over I was no longer struck by her measurement but by my own capacity to take time for granted.
This reminder of the impermanent nature of existence shifted my perspective, but it is an ongoing practice to maintain this awareness and be informed by it in my daily life. Even with this awareness more present for me in these last few weeks, I still find myself struggling to live out that truth; to show up as fully as I want to – for myself, for the people in my life, for the world.
Holding impermanence in focus hasn’t changed my work schedule or other commitments. But it has inspired me to re-evaluate some choices and think about stewarding my time and energy with more intention. It also doesn’t change the ways I suffer or how I get in my own way. But it does offer the promise that this suffering, too, will be impermanent.
For me, recognizing impermanence is an invitation to set and reset my intentions. I can refocus on the qualities and ways of being I aspire to embody. I am closer to remembering the preciousness and precariousness of all beings, myself included.
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