I admit an aversion—if not an antipathy—to change. Change is at times necessary, at a certain point it is inevitable, but I wince when I hear certain people babble that “Change is good.” Yes, perhaps—if you’re talking about motor oil or underwear. In either case it falls under the heading of scheduled maintenance. Not following through on such a course of action may void the warranty, or worse.
The change in my own life, by which I mean upheaval as opposed to preventative care or hygiene, has been traumatic. At the very least, it poses a new (and largely unwelcome) set of challenges. The publication of each issue of The Syncopated Times is a different emergency each month; I don’t know if I’m reaching into a box of chocolates or a bag of mousetraps. It’s become a level of catastrophe that I can manage, and to some extent get used to. What throws me is when I have to face an additional layer of upheaval—crisis frosting on my usual turbulence cake.
The Syncopated Times has been in upheaval for a couple of months now; readers of this paper won’t realize that because our content is demonstrably better than ever. Our (unspoken) motto should be “Every Month, a New Normal.” I’m navigating with it. I eat such challenges for breakfast (even though they tend to go right through me).
I’ve made changes to the layout, some of which are salubrious and permanen
