Lasting Change

There are certain events that easily remind us just how much time has passed – birthdays, holidays, changing seasons. Yet there are other more subtle changes and patterns which cause us to quietly acknowledge how far we’ve come, how much we’ve grown and how well we have or have not lived.

One of those subtle unexpected revelations recently occurred to me…in the form of pink plastic flamingos.

In the Stockade District, where I have lived for a year and half, there is an unusual tradition of decorating the small center square with giant flamingos on the eve of Valentine’s Day.

As I drove out to the grocery store that evening, I passed the distinguished statue of the Native American which presides over the circular plaza. The annual Christmas tree with red velvet bows and oversized light bulbs still stood behind the statue. However, what was on the opposite side of the monument was what really struck my attention.

Two flood lights lit the front of the commemorative plaque, which that night was covered with a fresh coat of snow. And there standing proudly like a fleet of colonial-era soldiers was a cluster of six giant flamingos.

They were bright pink with beady eyes and spindly legs - the tacky, garage-sale variety which function more as scarecrows than tasteful lawn decorations.

Had I not lived in the Stockade for over a year, I may have just passed by the display, chuckling to myself that some artsy teenager wanted to surprise his girlfriend with something original for Valentine’s Day. However, I had seen this before and knew it was something more.

Passing the birds on that cold February evening, I knew I was experiencing something quite wonderful - the clandestine effort of one person or a few, to repeat a silly little gesture because it symbolized something unique and unexpected.

And according to Wikipedia, under the official listing of Schenectady’s Stockade District, this tradition has been going on for over a decade.

I smiled to myself remembering last year’s display. I remembered walking to the Dutch Reformed Church that evening, for the Sunday night vesper service. A classical harpist played a medley of romantic music, from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet to the Phantom of the Opera.

As I walked back to my apartment I passed the center square at the intersection of Front and Ferry streets and pegged into a mound of snow were six or seven pink plastic flamingos. The only difference was that this year the birds were flanked by a bouquets of red silk roses, covered in glitter and sequins.

It is the acknowledgment of more subtle trends that tug on my existential heart strings. Not the anticipation of a major anniversary or the seismic changes made by the melting Mohawk River, but something more hidden and unplanned for.

Moments like these cause me to check in with myself in significant ways, asking myself how I’ve changed since the last time I encountered that place or that person... or those flamingos.

I find that I am more real with myself, more nostalgic and reflective, when an obscure keepsake is resurfaced - whether it be a lost ring, or a handwritten note rediscovered after a few years.

I relish in those opportunities to ask myself, “How have I grown since then? In what ways am I different, or the same?”

I’ve gotten used to looking out for those small shifts, the easily overlooked signs of growth, which are often trampled underfoot, like the first blades of grass after a thaw.

Working at the City Mission, I’ve learned that painstakingly gradual transformation is more real and lasting than the more obvious and sweeping signs of change that we tend to seek.

A mother who entered the women's shelter in a daze, disinterested in the child she would give birth to a few weeks later, now holds her son lovingly, acknowledging how rare and precious he is.

A new face that I encountered four months ago, her left eye blood shot with a fist-sized bruise, now radiates with maturity and self-awareness.

A young woman who was accustomed to hiding behind her long hair and hooded sweatshirt, eyes fixed to the ground beneath her, now dares to lift her gaze and engage in conversation with others.

These changes took time. Other changes will take even longer.

I now see that change can be shown in the way an individual speaks and how her head rests on her shoulders. It is expressed in the way one responds to challenge and frustration, choosing to step back and pause rather than prepare for battle.

I think it’s hard to recognize our own personal growth, especially if we strive for those grand changes that don’t hold up over time.

Sometimes it takes someone on the periphery of one’s life, observing something new or different, to convince us that we’ve stepped into that next chapter of our lives.

And sometimes it takes an inconspicuous event, like the awkward glare of a plastic bird on Valentine’s Day, to wake one up inside to the small yet wonderful changes occurring every day.