"Everything Must Change"
Or What The Moon Has Told Me
When my children were little one of our favorite bedtime stories was Goodnight Moon.1 Sometimes we followed the reading by going to the window to say “goodnight” to the actual moon. It is a cherished memory from those precious days. One night stands out, though. Our next door neighbors had planted corn whose stalks had grown taller than the 6-foot fence in our suburban Northern California backyard. As it grew ever taller, the corn had been a source of curiosity and conversation in our house. We were not living in a rural space by any means, and it was pretty unusual to see that type of plant sprouting up in any of our backyards; they were typically landscaped with lawns, ornamental shrubbery, and flowers. On this particular night when we went to the window to do our solemn ritual, after saying goodnight to the other houses, etc., my son Morgan sweetly (and perhaps a tad facetiously) intoned “goodnight, corn.” It was so unexpected that the four of us looked at each other and cracked up all over the floor. “Goodnight corn” remains our family’s inside joke to this day.
…and a comb and a brush, and a bowl full of mush. / And a quiet old lady who was whispering “hush”2
What I appreciate about the story is that it teaches children to pay attention to the details that make up their everyday experience. Not only within their rooms and homes but also outside, in the world and beyond. It had always been my practice to point out things in nature to them, such as flowers, the brightness of the spring and summer sun and the uniquely golden haziness of autumn sunlight, the majesty of the Pacific Ocean and the sparkling light reflecting off the Sacramento River as we crossed over it. And the moon! Especially when it was huge and orange (the “harvest moon”) and felt super close and shined extra brightly. Even bringing them outside sometimes to look at it, to notice and take it in.
Later, when they were both middle school age, they would sometimes complain about the weather, saying things like “I’ll be glad when summer/winter/spring/fall gets here, I’m tired of the cold/heat/rain/wind.” I would usually respond with “Okay… I’m gonna remind you of this moment when it’s 100+ degrees outside and you’re saying you’re tired of it being hot.” Yes, I know it was annoying, but my intention was not (entirely) to be dismissive. Instead, I wanted to teach them to be in and accept what they couldn’t change in the present moment while still keeping faith that the current situation will change. It is constantly changing and that there will come a day when they will appreciate that cold.
I was trying to impart to them the wonder of being alive and of the privilege of marveling, bearing witness, to all the beauty surrounding us every day in the world, not taking it for granted. That was part of the legacy of my joy I want to leave with them as their father.
Speaking of legacy, the song “Everything Must Change”3 has been one of my all-time favorites since I first heard it, long before even having kids. But in this current chapter of my life, as my clock is winding down, its message resonates, or “hits,” differently than it ever has. It also reminds me of the ideas I want them to remember when I’m no longer here. Take these lines:
The young become the old / Mysteries do unfold / ‘Cause that’s the way of time / Nothing and no one goes unchanged. / There are not many things in life you can be sure of / Except... / Rain comes from the clouds / Sun lights up the sky / And hummingbirds do fly.4
Even now, I still pay close attention to the weather, appreciating (not necessarily “liking”) whatever we find ourselves confronting in terms of temperature, rain, snow, heat, whatever. I’ve learned that there’s no “good” or “bad” weather, it just is. Dealing with what is is simply part of being alive and on this earth. What if we approached uncomfortable or annoying things or seasons in our lives this way? Just like they’re a storm we have to get through on our way to the next thing coming our way.
I know we all know this but I’m going to say it anyway: We need rain. And we need heat and light. We also need the cold so the earth can rest and prepare for Spring. The particular season we are experiencing right now, whatever its characteristics, will change to something else. Likewise, the struggles in whatever season of life we’re in won’t last forever. It will change, hopefully, to something better.
Finally, stopping to pay attention to and marvel at something as basic but profound as whether the sun and moon are visible or are hidden behind clouds, teaches us to appreciate the good while it lasts. It also teaches us patience and resilience to endure the difficult and challenging while it lasts, remembering that everything must change.
This piece is dedicated to my children, Alana Désirée (25) and Morgan Alexander (22). May your heart smile when remembering our past together, be strengthened and encouraged to walk into your beautiful future, regardless of what kind of weather you encounter, and may you never forget to say “goodnight” to the moon (or to the corn!).
I see you.
I hear you.
I got you.
I love you forever.
Dad
Margaret Wise Brown, 1947.
From Goodnight Moon text.
Composed and lyrics written by Benard Ighner (1945-2017) and Quincy Jones (1933-2024). It was first performed (quite beautifully, I might add) by Mr. Ighner on Jones’s 1974 album ‘Body Heat’. The song has subsequently recorded by a number of artists, including Nina Simone, George Benson, Oleta Adams (one of my favorite renditions), and a TikTok video of user @lachunek is currently getting a lot of attention lately.
From “Everything Must Change” lyrics.