The Cost of Transformation (And Daring To Sing, Anyway)

This is a shortened version of what I shared in my latest podcast episode. Listen here!

Lessons from the World of Cicadas

Last year, I was about an inch from stepping on a cicada on the pavement before I noticed it. I jumped, tripped, and stumbled away. Looking back, I couldn’t tell if it was dead or alive. It was around last July, when the annual cicadas had quieted but hadn’t disappeared.

In the days, weeks, and months after, that image stayed loud in my mind. I even started hearing more cicada references, their buzzing lingering past summer.

It wasn’t their sound that startled me. It was their nearness. Not the hum in the trees, but the shell-covered body, the eyes, the closeness. These aren’t creatures we’re taught to admire like butterflies or hummingbirds. Cicadas don’t evoke softness or comfort. Yet they are real, alive, heard, and hard to ignore.

This year, I started learning about different types: annual, 13-year, and especially the 17-year cicadas that live underground for most of their lives. After 17 years, they emerge, molt, mate, and live just a few weeks aboveground.

That stood out to me because I’m 35 now, and 17 years ago I was 18, becoming an “adult.” Since then: mountains, valleys, grief, joy. So much happens underground while nothing seems to move. Seventeen years is more than enough time for consequences and shifts to reshape everything. Then, one day, the surface breaks. You rise. You shed what no longer fits.

But then what?

Sometimes transformation feels linear. Sometimes it feels like this: You emerge with a form shaped by years no one else tracked. You become a record of long cycles. You carry memory in your wings, your movement, your presence. But even after you fly, you might wonder: will the world know what to do with who I’ve become?

This is what I call the cost of transformation: living the change while the world responds unpredictably. You rise after a long underground journey, and not everyone sees it as beautiful…especially up close. The cost is the tension: your transformation might be welcomed, resisted, ignored, or celebrated. Maybe all at once.

We hear words like courage, resilience, transformation at every scale. These words can hold real process, struggle, and time. But reminders like the cicada show that emergence isn’t always neat or understood. It may not even make sense to the one experiencing it. Still, it’s worth naming.

One place I’ve seen this is in health stories:diagnoses in adulthood, postpartum recovery, childhood illness, myomectomy, or family updates. These stories move in loops. They rarely have clean starts or ends. When someone asks “How’s it been?” it’s like trying to speak 17 years of underground. Even well-meaning listeners may not grasp it.

What if a transformation story doesn’t need to be quick, simple, or legible to matter?

What if it’s enough for a story to fly, to be loud and full-bodied, even if not fully understood?

Cicadas don’t lift off in perfect arcs. They don’t glide like butterflies or birds. Their flight is clumsy, sudden. So even if you rise with awkwardness or fear, it might not look like you pictured. But it’s still your flight. Your wings are still yours.

Facing the cost of transformation doesn’t erase the aliveness you met underground.

Whatever you've been underground about, it’s okay to name the cost. It’s okay if your journey doesn’t match a tidy metaphor. It may feel beautiful and terrifying all at once. It might face perfection’s pressure, and still hold wholeness. There will be space to come close. There will be space to name the cost. And space to sing, anyway.

To be the cicada who knows, no matter what others see or fear, you were still meant to rise.

Reflection Questions:

What parts of your life have changed quietly, beneath the surface, without others noticing?

Look up an insect you already like or feel familiar with. What’s something about its life cycle or behavior you didn’t know before?

Until Next Tuesday,

Morgan Harper Nichols

Morgan Harper Nichols is an artist, author, and PhD Student based at the University of Georgia (Communication Studies). Learn more at morganharpernichols.com