On Constancy and Change

I like it when things stay the same.

That's what some people say to me. Now, if I'm perfectly honest I understand why they're saying that: constancy, or more precisely the appearance of constancy, is comforting. It means you can cling onto something in a world where clinging onto something, no matter how appealing, is difficult and possibly dangerous - and besides, it hurts like hell to stop clinging.

That doesn't mean that it doesn't fuck me off. And why? For a start, I'm no fan of change for change's sake, though I agree we need a lot of it - but that's not my reason. If I'm entirely honest, my real reason is that I think they're trying to fight nature; they're trying to fight natural forces and the mathematics modelling them. And, of course, they won't win against the laws of nature and mathematics. It's like me trying to stop the tide by yelling at it not to come in: gravity and the mathematics modelling it are stronger than my wishes.

My current, painfully obvious thought is that the observable universe is in a state of constant flux. From subatomic particles to our observable region of space itself, nothing stays the same: particles and antiparticles constantly annihilate each other and are created from the energy produced, while the universe expands at an increasing rate. Even in our world, the seasons change. People change. Institutions change. Everything is constantly changing, from moment to moment, so it makes no sense to argue that things stay the same or to like it when they do. Instead - and some philosophies have caught onto this for millennia yet people still don't get it - why not at least entertain the idea that it's better to accept things as temporary than to try to make the temporary permanent? To do such a thing is futile and only causes sorrow.