Change is Good
As I write this, my cubicle at Wizards of the Coast is being disassembled. Fret not--we're just moving into a new building across the street from our old location. I'm not going anywhere soon--I'm still having far too much fun helping to improve the D&D experience (or, if you're on the other side of the fence, ruining the game for everyone).
But the move has me thinking about stuff. I've been working at 1801 Lind Avenue for 9-1/2 years. That's a long time, particularly in today's business climate. I realized not long ago that I've pulled into the same parking lot more times than I've driven to any other location. For that matter, the only place I've spent more time in my life is probably my parents' house, while growing up.
Change can be a frightening thing. Even when you know it's coming, it's stressful. Heck, even when it's welcomed it can be stressful. After all, going from the familiar to the unfamiliar involves risks. We're told wonderful things about the new building, and I'm sure it's going to be a nice place. But I *know* these hallways. I know which door needs an extra wiggle to get it to open properly. I know which soap dispenser doesn't work. I know which rock is the most comfortable to sit on when you just have to get outside for a while. I know which window I cracked (accidentally) during a Cthulhu game many years ago. On Monday, when I report to 1600 Lind Avenue, I'll be hitting the reset button on all of that.
In a weird way, it's kind of like moving from one edition of your favorite game to the next. Just like the familiarity of an old building, knowing all the ins and outs of a set of rules breeds comfort and security. Sure, there are a lot of similarities between the old and the new--I'll put the same posters up on my cubicle walls, you still roll the same dice to see if your sword connects with the monster's gut. But enough differences exist between the old and the new that we can't help but realize that change has occurred. What we knew to be true isn't any more, and we're suddenly adrift in an unfamiliar sea, bereft of landmarks to guide us.
At least, that's what some folks might say. I say, "hogwash."
Moving across the street doesn't mean all my experiences of the last 9-1/2 years disappear. A new building doesn't eliminate memories of the old any more than a new game means your old gaming sessions didn't happen. Sure, it'll take some time to find my way around, to discover the hidden secrets of the new building. But it's exactly that learning process that made my old memories worthwhile. If someone had just made a list of all the quirks of 1801 Lind, it would've been as meaningful as my last shopping list.
Memories are treasured because of the experiences they remind us of. I remember the cracked window because of the looks of horror on everyone's faces when we realized what had happened. I remember the good rock because of the warm, sunny afternoons I spent out there. I remember the crazy 1st-Edition rule for Strength because of the 18/00 that Neil legitimately rolled for his fighter in my basement. I remember the funky point-build character generation rules in 2nd Edition's Player's Option books because of the bizarre characters created with those rules for my Planescape campaign. The fact that I don't use those rules any more doesn't diminish those experiences in the least, and the fact that I'm moving into an unfamiliar setting doesn't mean my memories of the nooks and crannies of the old one are wasted.
When I think of stagnant water, I think of old ponds crusted over with algae and scum. Personally, I'd rather think of myself as a brisk stream--clear, clean water on its way from one place to another. It has energy and direction, even though it may not know exactly where that direction is taking it. Yes, life as a pond is predictable, and that has its place. But too much predictability leads to stagnation: the inability to appreciate new ideas, to form new experiences, to make new memories.
Change is stressful, but it's also exciting. Change means new possibilities, new opportunities, new discoveries. Most of all, though, embracing change is about having hope--hope that things can continue to get better and better, and that no matter what new challenges arise, you can overcome them.
And if that's the way you think, too, then I like the cut of your jib, mister.