My father hated change. He lived in the same house all of his adult life and fought against changing jobs even when it was inevitable that the family business wasn’t going to survive. One thing he did do though was frequently move all the furniture around in the house. He would rearrange the living room; completely change the bedrooms so my room was now my sisters’ or their room was now mine. He painted the rooms often too, maybe as an excuse to make one more move. It used to drive the rest of the family crazy. My mother didn’t say much, probably because she knew it was pointless but I do remember complaining about the constant upheaval. I’d come home from a date and try to tiptoe through the living room in the dark, only to noisily bump my shine on a chair that hadn’t been in that space when I left. Some arrangements weren’t even convenient to the TV or electrical plugs – no matter, he’d change it again! The only conclusion I can come up with is that change is natural to the human condition. If we fight against it one way, it must be expressed in another. But it seems, it must be expressed and dealt with. If we don’t accept change, maybe we are compelled to create it.