The tension we feel in our day-to-day existences is between our natural style and the adaptive requirements of functioning in multiple contexts. While I may not be naturally inclined to socialize with large groups of people, I may have to adapt my style to do exactly that if my job requires it.  With time, I may decide that the tension between these poles is more than I want to stomach, and start looking for another job. 

In my experience, peoples' capacity for adapting moves along a broad spectrum. On one end we have those that adapt as little as possible to squeeze through situations, be they social, professional, interpersonal or otherwise. They evidence a staunch unwillingness to change, though by necessity they must adapt at least a little to get through life. 

On the far other end, we have those who ceaselessly adapt to run the slalom of each new situation.  These people also tend to seek out more challenges in which adaptation is without question necessary. For them, not changing is the same as stagnating, and that's not a life they are willing to live.

Most of us live somewhere in the middle of these extremes. Change is uncomfortable, but we recognize that it is the only true constant in our lives beyond gravity. We feel the friction between our natural and adaptive styles, but with time and experience the friction lessens. In a sense, we adapt to adaptation.

If you watch closely, you'll notice that the fulfillment and satisfaction of those around you is often directly related to their ability to adapt. Flexibility--which is really just another word for one's ability to adapt--is vital to living at a level beyond "getting by." Master adapters are like Judo black belts; they shift, contort and redirect to work through difficult situations (or "holds" to continue the Judo metaphor) and come out with a few more bruises, but ready for the next challenge. 

As a writer, one of the biggest adaptation challenges I face is walking away from a piece I've spent hours, sometimes days, developing--only to realize that it doesn't measure up in the end. More than once I've asked myself, "Can I really just toss 20,000 words of hard-fought copy?" But to reach the goal of crafting the right copy for the need, tossing most or all of the old copy may be exactly what I have to do, no matter how painful or initially self-defeating it feels. Later, perhaps I can salvage pieces of the original work and weave it into the new--and that, too, is an adaptive response. But even if I can't, the choice I face is to stagnate and not achieve the objective, or adapt and start over. 

At the end of the day, those who can overcome the ego-twisting pain, frustration, and fear of adapting are those who are eventually most satisfied with what they have achieved and are ready for more challenges, whether they are of our choosing or part of the never-ending meteor shower of challenges life hits us with far more often than we'd like.

Copyright 2011, David DiSalvo

www.daviddisalvo.org