Titles are hard. Change is too.

Since I can remember, wanting a dog has always been a part of my identity. The story goes that when my parents decided to move to Atlanta, my mother told my father that we could move IFF (which is math shorthand for if and only if) the children all agreed to move. So, on a journey to secure the move, my father did what any motivated father with three young stubborn children would do: he told us we were moving, period, and asked what we would want to go quietly. First came my older brother, the angsty sports-oriented 9th grader who had had enough of his school. He simply asked to be able to watch the Red Sox. Easy. On to the next.

Next, came my younger brother, the 8 year old who already had taste too expensive for his own good but wasn’t mature enough to understand the leverage he had. He asked for our house to have a flat screen TV. Not for himself, for our house. It was 2006, flat screens were starting to become the norm, so that, too, was easy.

Then came me. Already 2 for 2, my dad could almost taste the muggy summers, the early fall thunder storms, and the terrible traffic. All he needed was me. So, I did what anyone in my situation would do if they were told they could have anything. I asked for a dog.

“What about something else? What else do you want?”

“Nothing. I want a dog.”

So we got a dog. Well, technically, I got a dog, but my mom named it and my dad took care of it. Thankfully my dad really loved this dog (not really sure why) so I felt less bad for how often I asserted my ownership while simultaneously doing nothing to take care of it.

Regardless, fast forward to about a year after college, I was 23, in San Francisco, had no idea what the future held for me, and had spent a weekend watching a friend’s dog. In that moment, I wanted a dog so badly. They were cute, and cuddly, and provided positive attention when you wanted it. They also could be super annoying, and do stupid things, giving me a tangible being to be annoyed at rather than the intangible world. I also felt like a dog could help regulate me, force me to leave the house when I wouldn’t want to, force me to come home when I had been gone too long, force me to have some responsibility. But, truthfully, I didn’t feel ready for one. I was still trying to live “the high life,” which mostly involved coming home, watching tv, and having some wine with my roommate. Nothing crazy, but on the rare occasion that I had something actually cool going on, I didn’t want to be tied down by the responsibility of a dog. So I told myself that when I was 27, I’d either already be settled down, or, more likely, I’d be single with no future ‘prospect,’ and since (I believed) by 27 you should be “settled down,” some responsibility could be good for me, so I’d get a dog.

I was 23, but already so excited about my decision to get a dog when I was 27. I could smell the responsibility (and literal smell) that comes with a dog, the adultness, the attention. It was everything I wanted, I even had the instagram post picked out. I would post something like “I had always said I would get a dog when I was 27, so I guess let the journey begin” and then there’d be a video of an adorable little puppy peeing on the floor.

Not long after my decision, my friend texted me that she had a baby (no need to unpack the close friend telling me “I had a baby” rather than “I’m pregnant”) and randomly texts “hahahaha. I’m a mother” and I responded “hahahaha. I’m going to get a dog in 4 years.”

Fast forward 4 years. I’m moving to Atlanta. I have built-in doggy day care at my parent’s home around the corner. My landlord is my mother, so I don’t need to worry so much if the dog scratches the floor (sorry mom). I have a partner who is fine (at best) with me getting a dog. Shelters are full of adorable puppies that people can no longer take care of because they got them during COVID (sad). I’m turning 27 in November. The perfect storm.

But, as the summer progressed, and as Savyon and I talked more and more about getting a dog, I decided it isn’t the time. Not only am I not going to get a dog this fall, but I probably won’t get a dog for at least a few years. It just doesn’t feel like what I want right now. But when I told some of my friends, their responses were pretty clear. “Wow. But you’ve been talking about this forever.” “This feels so off-brand.” “This isn’t you.” “Is this because Savyon didn’t want a dog?”

And to my core, this shook me, because I take pride in being consistent. I love being “on brand,” and having my friends know that they can rely on me to do as I say. But I am realizing that the ramification of being consistent is also being static.

What is clear to me and should be clear to everyone around me is that I’m not the same person as I was when I was 23. Like, I am drastically different. Yes, in clothing and hair length, but also in an even deeper way. Back then I could maybe tolerate a night of camping if there was a clear campsite and enough social pressure, and now I actively plan trips to try to camp in every national park. Back then, I felt uncomfortable in my clothes, in my identity, in my relationships and in myself. And now I wear clothes from the 1960s, have an earring, and have many many conversations about sexuality, gender, sex, the world we live in, Judaism, etc. Back then, the dream vacation was a week in Puerto Rico sitting by a beach, and now I want to quit the job I haven’t even found yet so I can travel the world, knowing that even one year won’t be enough time. Back then, the thought of solo travel, the thought of going for a run without music, and the thought of being in bed at night in silence, all scared me. But now, it doesn’t. (Wow, that is a lot to unpack from one introductory paragraph...too bad none of that is what this post is about). The real question is, if I am a clearly different (and possibly more established) version of myself, why should I be bound to things that I told myself a long time ago?

When I was 12, I wanted to be a Professor of History at Brown University. Where did that come from? No idea. I think a smart family friend went to Brown? And I think history sounded really smart? But then I went to High School and took my first history course and legit was like “lol. I hate history. Shows how much I knew when I was 12.” Which is also funny because now I actually find history so fascinating. As an aside, I did an ice breaker with some friends recently asking “What is the one thing/topic each of you would want to know everything about?” Someone said chemistry. One said aerospace engineering. I said history. I just want to know all of it. Like, think about it, how much of history is affected by social dynamics that don’t translate in our history textbooks? Manipulation of leaders? Random sexual tension? Do we believe history really happened as the historians say it happened? Nah. But also, history is mostly written from the perspective of white men... but that’s a different point.

Anyway, the point is, at 12 years old, I had a goal that by 16 I realized didn’t fit me anymore. And when I bring this point up, people love to say “well those four years are a big four years developmentally. You at 12 is very different than you at 16.” True. But why can’t four years be big developmentally when I’m in my 20s? Yeah, maybe physically I’m not changing in the same way (although with COVID, definitely physically changed a lot in just a few months), but why is it that all of a sudden, I hit my 20s, and I’m no longer allowed to change unless it’s tied to some big life event, like getting married, or having a child, or some intense trauma? Why do we let ourselves and others stop growing? It’s not even growing, it’s changing.

13 year old vs 26 year old me

This holds true for Religion. For our views of Family.

Oftentimes, we decide what we want for ourselves when we’re far too young to know enough about the world, or think for ourselves. And then when you’re different, when your opinions change, when your view of something shifts with time, someone would say “younger you would be sad.” You’re right, me at 13 would probably be sad to know that I’m 26, not married, not super religious, and don't have a dog because that is what 13 year old me imagined for 26 year old me. But also, if 13 year old me had lived the life I’ve lived, he’d be pretty damn happy with how far I’ve come with regards to self assurance, empathy, and expression of emotions and feelings. It’s such a problematic and manipulative tactic for other people to use our desires or wishes at a young age to create guilt around development and change, when already many of us struggle navigating this on our own. Sometimes I feel like I am the person I am today because of my younger self, so I can’t help but partially feel like I owe him something.

One of my friends and I often talk about the concept of free will, and one of the things I believe is how we truly are the results of our exact balance of nature and nurture. In short, if a person had my exact biology and experienced exactly the same experiences as me, exactly, then in the exact same situations, I believe they’d make the exact same decisions as me. So, if 13 year old me had experienced all the same things as me, he would be making the same decisions I am making now (which, at its core, is obvious). Thus, we shouldn’t compare ourselves, our desires, our lives to that of younger versions of ourselves since they haven’t experienced all the things we have. (I’m not much of a philosopher, so maybe someone will tell me that this doesn’t make sense or is dumb. But oh well.)

You’re right, 13 year old me might be upset that I’m not married, but also 13 year old me still believed that marriage was this mythical and magical thing made of pure bliss and an absolute knowing that just happens to each of us without any work or effort (to be fair, this messaging is still subconsciously affecting me). 13 year old me might be upset that I’m not so traditionally observant, but 13 year old me hadn’t yet seen the ways that religion both simultaneously provides community, meaning, and intentionality while also often being ingrained with misogyny, homophobia, and traditionalism / nationalism that can cause harm to many people. But 26 year old me has seen these things. I think 13 year old me would understand the journey that I’m on to try to bring together my religion and my difficulties with religion.

Why are we so against change, not just in ourselves but probably even more so in other people? Why are we so combative against the people that could be the influencers of change in those close to us? When I was younger, all I wanted was a big house, with a garage, a big front and back yard for the large number of kids and dogs that I would inevitably have. I wanted all new appliances, so many rooms some would be seemingly useless, etc. I didn’t want a neighbor's home to be too close to mine. Savyon grew up in Berkeley, with older homes, no front yards, everyone all in each other’s business. That isn’t what I wanted, and I vocalized that. I said I couldn’t live in the Bay for the rest of my life because I wanted space. But I’m not sure I want that anymore. Savyon has talked a lot about the creation of lawns, and the problematic nature in maintaining lawns, and what it means to utilize space. And, as time goes on, I’ve started to see it. I’ve started to recognize that maybe the person (me) who vocalized a need for space misinterpreted a desire / yearning for my past as a need for my future. But for some reason, I feel hesitant to tell people that Savyon is the one who taught me these things, because I don’t want people to blame her for a different me. And that happens. We all know those people or have been those people that, as we start spending time with someone new and start changing, there are people close to us who are up in arms about the influence this other person has had on us. But that’s not our problem, that’s on them. That’s because they got used to a certain version of you, put you in a specific place in their lives, assigned certain things to you, and now they’re forced to change that. And so they call out the person most closely associated with this because it couldn’t be you.

But what if it is a genuine change?

What if I genuinely now recognize that maintaining a lawn, in a place where the climate isn’t naturally conducive for one, could be a waste of water when water is already scarce? Is it so bad that I learned that from someone else? Even as I write this, I’m guilty of judging people for making value changes in their lives. I judged (and sometimes continue to judge) some people who went to religious institutions in Israel and became significantly more religious, simply because they spent some time with some educational figures. But what if it is genuine? What if this is something that calls to them? I understand it is complicated. I know sometimes there is worry of manipulation, and pressure. But sometimes we need to check ourselves. Are we actually worried about manipulation? Is this person’s life worse? Or do we just not like the change because it affects our status quo? Because even I wonder whether I need to be more open minded to this concept of change.

Something I think about is that, while I’m framing change here as good, and a step forward, that doesn’t mean it isn’t difficult. It doesn’t mean there isn’t a sense of loss. I am so glad to be the person I am today, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sad that the 13 year old version of me, and the dreams of 13 year old me, no longer work for me. I would love for my views of Family and The Home to remain as they were, untouched by the brutal truth that comes from the financial needs for such a life, and the family responsibilities that I could not predict. I would love for my sense of self not to have come at the cost of my ability to feel comfortable in religious spaces that I once used to feel comfortable in. I am happy to be able to grow, but I am sad and mourning the life I can’t have and the things I have to leave behind.

As life goes on, we gain perspective, we have realizations, and awakenings. Oftentimes, when I look back to my goals when I was 20, I was still so intensely in a Jewish bubble, had never thought about politics, didn’t know how to engage in meaningful conversations with people different from me. So now that I have that perspective, shouldn’t I use it? Shouldn’t I be able to use my new experiences to grow? The reason we struggle to grow is that we’re all so scared to betray the younger versions of ourselves, or people who know younger versions of ourselves. But we can change. We can grow. We are allowed to do that. And, arguably, we should do it.