I never published this post on this blog. It was meant for a separate blog of nonfiction essays. But I know of so many people going through the transition process at the moment that I thought perhaps by sharing my own thoughts about that challenging stage (Transition Land), that they might find some solidarity in the craziness. You are not alone. It is a frustrating/exhilarating place to be.
The wind through the open window blew the long, transparent sheers in a rhythmic fashion. The mid-section of the sheers would rise like a wave, growing taller and taller, until finally the sheer would acquiesce, allowing the wind to quickly roll to the end of the fabric, blowing its edges outward right before settling down again against the window screen, waiting to catch the next rise. The next fresh wave of air.
“Adjust means that you have to change because things are different. When things are different, even though you do not like them, you have to adjust.” – Lottery, by Patricia Wood.
I am most certainly a person of change. My living room changes as much as my location and life goals; I have come to embrace this about my personality. And while I am pliable when it comes to change, I prefer to do it quickly and without pause. This is not to say that I am impulsive in the decision-making process. The layers unseen are the many hours spent praying about and weighing the pros and cons of any given situation. When I proclaim, “I want to move the living room furniture around” it is because I have spent a few days mentally rearranging the furniture in my mind beforehand, pondering what would work best where and why. Bigger life decisions require more time analyzing. So while I do not consider myself an impulsive decision-maker, I become impulsive once the decision is final.
I am not a good transitioner. Once a choice has been made, I would prefer to activate full tilt forward. “Deploy! Deploy!” is my rallying cry.
One of the reasons I do not like long transitions is that people begin to emotionally step away. Once they realize you are a short-timer, they begin to put protective distances in your relationship. It is inevitable; I’ve seen it happen – and have participated in it myself – many times over the years.
My husband, Scott, and I are in the middle of a transition. Due to a job transfer, we are moving from Kansas City, Missouri to Omaha, Nebraska. And honestly, this transition has seemed interminably long. Our decision-making process began many months ago as Scott and I prayed about and weighed all the options – good, bad, pros, cons, indifferences. It will be a good move for us – and for our family. But there are things that are detaining our transition. Scott’s job does not start for another month. Our apartment is not yet ready.
So we wait in transition land. We are trying to maintain a daily life here in KC even while knowing it is a temporary one. Yoda resonates in my head, “Do or do not…” I feel as if I am doing both at the moment (doing and not doing) and it can be a mentally/emotionally frustrating conflict of opposing forces.
I recently looked up the definition of the word ‘interstices’. It was defined as: An intervening space. A small or narrow space or interval between things or parts.
Oh how I wrapped up that word. I find myself in between the here and now. At the interstices of homes. Finishing one and anticipating the other.
My mind returns to that peaceful afternoon, watching the wind through the sheers.
I love the rise of the sheers. I love riding the wave and soaring high above my normal place of existence. I don’t even mind the upset of fabric blowing in the wind – being tossed here and there.
But I do not enjoy the lack of wind. The lack of movement. Just the stillness of hanging straight – no wind. No rise. No upset. No activity.
Waiting for the next wave. For the movement of air in the midst of the wind.
The window is open.
Please wind, find my awaiting soul.
I’m ready to rise again.