In our world of change there’s power in a flower
WordSmith with Gerard Smith
At a family gathering, my uncle told of a neighbour travelling to the airport to pick up his brother from New York; they’ve not seen each other in 40 years, “He’ll have changed, will you know him?” asked my uncle. The neighbour shrugged, “I don’t know.” My uncle asked, “Will he know you?” The neighbour replied with confidence, “He-will-a-course, sher I’ve not been away!”
I’m sure it’s a joke, yet one told with a realism that elevated the comedy. And, it got me thinking about our relationship with ‘change'. Many people fear change, it even has a name ‘metathesiophobia'. Apparently, it’s a fear that’s rooted in our past experience; which is probably why I’ve never suffered from ‘change-fear'.
When I first came back to Cavan as a child, it was my fifth home. Moving to Dublin for college, I lived in numerous bedsits. And for this column I tallied the amount of flats I lived in while in London – I counted 17. Clearly, I’m somewhat of a nomad, well and truly accustomed to change and the subsequent upheaval.
The author Patricia Scanlan reviewed a piece I wrote, saying, “Gerard’s writing resonates with anyone who has left our shores and returned changed, yet the same.”
And man-alive have I returned ‘changed'. Of course my change is outwardly physical; yet inside I’m still the same young lad rambling around Cavan with a headful of dreams and hopes for the future. I’m a great believer in keeping dreams and hopes alive no matter what our age; as an internet meme doing the rounds, reads, “If you don’t have a dream, you’re dead.”
On my initial return to Cavan five years ago, I was wholly aware of my change. It rendered me unrecognisable to many I knew in my youth. I’d recognise someone I went to school with, smile and say, “Hello,” and watch them return a polite nod, not knowing I was once a presence in their lives.
One afternoon I became aware of a woman staring at me. As she approached I could see her mind reeling back the years as she tried to place me. Once in front of me her light-bulb switched on, “Are you Gerard Smith home from England?” she asked. I nodded, “Yes, that’s me.” Her jaw dropped as she announced, “You’re the spitting image of your granny!”
I walked away thinking, ‘I’d rather she said I looked like my father.’
That same week I was chewing the cud with a woman in a café. On departing she said, “You sound like the woman who works in Absolute Gems.” So, I look like a woman and sound like one! I know I’ve changed, but I’m certain my gender remains the same as when I left – my first week back wasn’t great for the ego.
Prior to my return the visits to Cavan were most often fleeting; for weddings and latterly, funerals, sadly. And on those occasions I didn’t take in the changes to the townscape. When I came back I didn’t purposefully seek out changes to the town, they presented themselves to me as I reacquainted myself with the place. The first thing that struck me was the almost seismic shift in the retail and business landscape. The pubs have dwindled, chemists have proliferated, and the number of solicitors seems to have soared. Someone with an ‘-ology’ would have a lot to say about such change; I’ll leave any analysis on the subject to the suitably qualified.
I left a wilting town, and returned to one that bloomed, literally. As I write this I’m just back from a walk in the dank and drizzle; yet the host of golden daffodils that adorn Railway road added colour to a saturated grey day – they lifted my spirits. Studies have shown that flowers are good for our well-being, the sight of them releasing the flow of serotonin to our brain, elevating our mood. The flowers around town always stop me in my tracks and I’m compelled to document their fleeting beauty by snapping them and posting the pictures online. Cavan’s flower pictures always garner the most positive-engagement on my social-media channels.
If you are feeling a wee-flourish of ‘change-anxiety’ buy yourself some flowers – because there’s positive power in the flower.