Change Your Mind, It Will Change You
Change is the moment-to-moment alteration of airflow as we inhale and exhale.
Change is the rhythm of waking and sleeping, the state of consciousness, and the states of unconsciousness.
Change is the unfolding of years, emergent only in the rear-view, in hindsight and retrospect.
Our cycles and our lives are pushing and pulling at every level and every moment, toward the undeniable alteration that time and repetition bring.
Middle-earthlings such as ourselves are perpetually stuck in the middle perspective and even insist upon the truth of our perspective above all else.
Middle perspectives are neither zoomed out nor in; they are neither macro nor micro, but rather sit in the liminal space between expansion and contraction.
We cling to the hope that we have the power to control this middle zone. We do not.
Our human lives are mammal-lengthened. Mammals are successful breeders, and nature caps our existence for a reason.
But these days, even death and aging appear up for grabs by billionaires facing the coming extinguishment of their turn upon the mortal coil.
Most of us must suffice with the approximate number of decades our blueprint of life allows for.
Most of us would benefit from seeing through the veil of misguided attempts to control the uncontrollable and learn to dance with change.
Centering as Return, Not Arrival
Wherever you go, there you are. Externalities will always remind us that you bring you with you. The only path to centering is you.
Centering, in the practice of wheel thrown pottery, is the art of coercing an unstable, heavy lump of clay into a symmetrically cylindrical lump of clay that then can be molded by the potter's hands, using the wheel, into a vessel of one form or another.
Centering is not easy, and in pottery and life, centering requires a mental and physical calm.
The potter's hands learn centering through failure—too much pressure and the clay flies off, too little and it wobbles eternally.
Similarly, our bodies hold wisdom about when to yield and when to press.
Even centered clay on the wheel is in constant motion—it only appears still relative to its rotation.
Anxiety over change is a perfectly natural human reaction to uncertainty. The goal is not to remove anxiety but to flow with the emotions like the spinning clay.
Our center isn't a fixed point but a dynamic relationship with movement itself.
Every potter knows you lose center constantly—what matters is noticing and coming back.
When we notice that our bodies are speaking to us through the pain in our wrist, the tiredness that seems chronic, or the short temper we have developed to defend against one more item on the never-ending to-do list, our bodies respond to our listening.
Awareness is the first step toward home.
The answer to the question of what should I do to be more adaptive is not to add more to your list.
The answer is to take one moment at a time in small and manageable doses and bring your awareness back to the present moment you are in.
You are the vessel of your life, and you can be a big, wobbly lump of clay that cannot find the center and eventually falls apart, or you can find your way to the center through the journey of calming the mind.
The mind is the gravitational force that holds or collapses your center.
But how do we calm this gravitational force when the world spins faster than our wheel?
The Collective Wobble
Your wobble affects mine. Mine affects yours. This is not a design flaw—it's the design.
Watch a room full of potters learning and creating.
When one person's clay flies off the wheel, everyone flinches.
When someone finds their center and a tall cylinder rises, the whole room settles slightly.
We are energetically porous creatures pretending to be separate.
Boundaries are not walls.
A centered potter can work steadily while chaos erupts at the next wheel.
Not through ignorance or indifference, but through a kind of rooted presence that says: I can hold my center and witness yours.
I can be steady without being rigid. I can be affected without being toppled.
My energy is calm and grounded; this is a gift for both myself and those around me.
The clay teaches us that we can be soft enough to feel and firm enough to hold form.
When someone you love is wobbling, you cannot center them. This is the most brutal truth.
You can only offer your centered presence as a kind of energetic invitation: here's what solid ground feels like, if you want to remember.
Sometimes the most loving thing is to keep your hands on your clay, trusting that your centered presence is medicine enough.
Sometimes it's knowing when to stop your wheel and offer your hands to steady another's work. Wisdom is knowing the difference.
We center not in spite of each other but because of each other.
Your steady presence makes my return possible.
My grounded weight reminds you that landing is safe.
The collective wobble is not a problem to solve; it is the condition we practice within, it is life.
Return to Center
The vessel you become through centering is not for display.
We center not to become perfect cylinders, but to become useful vessels.
A centered pot can hold water, soup, flowers, or simply space.
An uncentered lump holds nothing but its own collapse.
Centering in practice is subtle, a sudden quiet, like when the washing machine finally stops spinning and you realize how loud it was.
Your shoulders drop without being told.
Your breath finds a rhythm that doesn't require management.
For one brief moment, you stop arguing with gravity.
It feels like coming home to a self you forgot you were.
You'll lose it again in minutes, maybe seconds. This is not failure. This is the practice.
Change will keep changing. The wheel will keep spinning. Your clay will wobble and threaten to fly.
The center holds not because it's strong, but because it knows how to yield and come back.
Like breath.
Like tides.
Like you, learning to dance with what is, shaping vessels from the beautiful mess of being human.
This is your practice.
This is your clay.
These are your hands, finding their way home.
"Being aware of your fear is smart. Overcoming it is the mark of a successful person." — Seth Godin
Be curious. Question your patterns. And be kind to yourself; you are worthy, my friend.
-Sonia a.k.a. SuperSonic
