This week, Kathi Buchanan, the owner of Buchanan Gallery in Houston, which represents my art, called to ask me to name the solo show we’re scheduling for March. It was a Sunday, and the print deadline was Monday, so I didn’t have much time to think about it. In response to her question, I blurted, “Let’s call it Owning Change.” Usually, I mull around show titles for weeks, carefully selecting words that give clues to my internal process, which inevitably ends up in my art. I called my last show Both Sides Now, after the Joni Mitchell song, because I created the art at a time when I was desperately seeking to merge my identities, to be a doctor, an artist, a writer, and a mother, while still being 100% Lissa, all the time. The conceptual part of that merging is almost complete. I have accepted a new job that allows me to be all of that, while still being all me. I have given birth to Owning Pink, which allows me to combine my art, writing, and passion for women’s health, all under one umbrella.

The thing is, all of that conceptual merging requires a whole lot of change, and I HATE change. So while I’ve been owning a whole lot of Pink lately, I’m not so sure I’ve been owning the change part. And yet, today is the dawn of a whole new adventure for me. Today, I start my new job at Clear Center of Health, an integrative medicine practice in Mill Valley, where I actually get to give my patients big fluffy white robes instead of scratchy paper half-gowns. At Clear Center, I’ll be able to spend a whole hour seeing my gynecology patients, rather than being a Pez dispenser for prescriptions and having to rush through a visit in 7 1/2 minutes. I can play soft music, light candles, hang my Plainsong paintings, and lead patients in deep breathing before I plunge into their vaginas with mean, pokey things. I might actually heal someone. I’m very excited.

But along with all that excitement comes a certain trepidation and anxiety. I feel like a kid on the first day of school. On one level, the first day of school is a yearly opportunity to reinvent yourself. You might end up sitting next to Karen Scott, the prettiest, most popular girl in school, and maybe, if she makes you her new best friend, you’ll be popular and Kevan Hearn will finally fall in love with you. Or maybe all the stuff you learned in gymnastics camp over the summer will make you jump high enough to be chosen for the cheerleading squad, and then Kevan Hearn will definitely love you. But even with that twitterpating sense of possibility, the first day of school always leaves you with a pit in your stomach. That’s how I feel right now, on the morning of my first day at Clear Center. Giddy and pitty.

So it’s time for me to Own Change. I’d better get crackin’! I’m about to leave our home in Monterey to move to Marin County, once we find the perfect house to live in and pack up our bazillion things. (How did we acquire so many things? New Years Resolution- DOWNSIZE!) In Marin County, I’m sure to make a slew of new friends, experience new adventures, and face new challenges. Siena will have to go to a new school, and Matt will have to find new suppliers for art materials. I’ll have to figure out where Home Depot and Costco and Trader Joes are, and I’ll get lost a million times before I figure out where I live. I’ll hike in different parks, swim at different beaches, and shop at new farmer’s markets. My mother will have to find a new church when she comes to visit, and I’ll have to figure out where I can buy Dungeness crab when it’s in season.

At my new job, I’ll have to prove myself all over again, since nobody knows what a good doctor I really am. I’ll have to learn a whole new system of paperwork, figure out which doctors I trust for the care of patients I refer out, and sort through new lab forms. I’ll have to adjust to a new space and understand that sometimes, when I want to do a herpes culture, I’m going to have trouble finding the right tube. While I used to have 35 patients on my schedule every day, I have to start from scratch all over again, as I build a new practice. Nobody here knows Dr. Lissa Rankin at all. It’s enough to freak a girl out.

On the flip side, a whole new day is dawning, and the sun is rising as I write. A pinkish orange glow is tinting the sky to the east, and it’s cool and clear outside, untinged by the Bay area’s usual fog. I think it’s God’s little gift to me, a bit of a pat on my shoulder to remind me that it’s all going to be okay, that change can be rejuvenating and life sustaining, a time of opening, just like the dawn of a new day. So today, I’m Owning Change for what it is, a time of possibility, of hope, of giving birth to dreams long repressed. I’m owning newness, fresh starts, and the opportunity for growth.

It’s been a year and a half since I jumped off the cliff of leaving my medical practice to write, paint, and be a Mom. For a year and a half, I feel like I’ve been free falling, hurtling towards an uncertain destiny. But today feels like the beginning of a gentle landing, at least a touchstone of grounding upon which I can plant my feet. I’m sure there will still be days of leaping and falling, for I now know that any sense I might have that there is certainty in life is merely an illusion. So I’m not fooling myself into thinking I have any clue what my future holds. But I do feel that, with a little bit of earth beneath my feet, I can begin to plant roots, to face the sun, and hopefully, with a little water and a lot of change, I can blossom.

PS. Many thanks to Cari Hernandez, artist and photographer, for the awesome pics!