The last few nights the desert air breathes through our windows. There is a defined chill that passes through the pores of our screen. I hug my Jaipuri blanket and sink into the warmth of our bed. Outside cars are hurrying even though it is almost ten o’clock at night. In my ear, the chimes ring with a faint echo. A sound of helicopter strums a little song. And then within minutes, a wholesale change steers the air in a different direction. It is quiet. A silence glides in just as easily as the noises of the out-of-tune symphony just moments ago.
It is what happens between the noise and the silence that often unsettles the more unchartered terrain of my heart. I often talk about how I am averse to change and that my being thrives on ritual and routine. My weariness multiplies in periods of transition. My daughter is close to losing two teeth. Every few minutes she reminds me that she will lose almost 9 teeth. With every clink of baby white in the sink, my heart falls just a little. She is transitioning into a young little girl to an older, more mature being. She knows the meaning of words that I didn’t even fathom. With every little revelation from her, I feel the shake of transition. I worry that in just a few short years, I won’t hear the “I love you Momma” every few seconds and that she rather spend her time with her friends than in my office. Children definitely make transitions palpable.
I am 38 and some days I feel the wear of my age. My joints don’t feel as fresh and there are many more random aches and pains that come up unexpectedly. The gray hairs are forming a nest at the side of my temple, while my face looks a little less vibrant. It’s a part of aging and life. I know this, but it does not make the transition any less difficult.
There are other transitions that are less cosmetic and more sharp. I know of at least a few friends that have life-threatening illness and the dreaded C word is a part of their everyday vocabulary. I’ve witnessed people lose their parents and friends and acquaintances. In the last two months, at least five of our friends are moving out-of-state. These incidences remind me the transient lighthouse that always is glaring around us.
There are ways I’ve tried to embrace the uncertainty. I’ve read books, attempted to meditate and learned to be fully aware that a transition is just a passageway to next something and that the cycles begins again. It doesn’t provide a salve to my wound. It just heightens the anxiety that comes with transition.
The clouds are thick and perhaps that is how it is meant to be. The transitions are passageways that serve as a vessel to the next something. You navigate, while hoping that the possibility of silence will help you muddle through the cloudiness of this transition.
Image by Klearchos Kapoutsis
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
Transitions in life can be difficult not to mention scary and uncertain. But I’ve learned that transitions bring a lot of promise and fresh new hope, that is, if we’re not so fearful of crossing over. The clouds do pass and the rainbow will soon appear.
Loved this post! May you be blessed with both courage and faith.
Anne,
I need to focus more on the hope of a transition, instead of fearing it. You are right. It does take courage and, ultimately faith. I thank you for the blessings.
Rudri, a beautiful post. Transitions are not easy but I believe you must trust them and surrender to them. Your daughter is getting older but she will always be your baby and she will always need you. Trust me, it’s hard for me to say since so many changes are happening with my older son. But I believe that I gave him wings so he can soar and even if it hurts me, it is the best thing for him. I feel you here, all that you say resonates with me. So I am sending you hugs and I hope the clouds pass on and sunshine smiles upon you.
Ayala,
I believe you are right. Yielding to transition is an important part of life. Sometimes it feels to difficult that it becomes cumbersome. I must remember it shall pass. Thanks always for your support and words of encouragements. xoxo
Beautifully written, Rudri. I completely understand this feeling as I am one who also like ritual and routine.
This is exactly what woke me at 3 something this morning. The transition of an empty nest and a divorce after 26 years of marriage are significant and most days and nights I feel the blessing and freedom they both represent. But some nights, dreams maybe, wake me and I mourn the loss rather than step into the change. Time and life are like a river that keep moving. Movement, transitions and change are the essence of life – I think that’s why ritual and routine are often so comforting and grounding. Thank you for a beautiful post. You were an answer to my early morning unrest.
Barb,
Thinking about transitions also means worrying about what is probably out of our control. I imagine it is difficult to move forward and leave behind 26 years of what you knew. I applaud your ability to mourn the loss and be aware that it is a part of the cycle of change. So grateful that my words resonated with you. Sending you hugs.
Actually, there are a lot of transitions in our life and it will always be part of it…This serve as an inspiration to me…
Adhrien,
Welcome! Yes. Transitions are an integral part of just being. It’s trying to adjust and embrace it that proves to be difficult sometimes. Appreciate your encouraging words.
I am so horrible, SO horrible at transition. I wish I could flex my heart and head and spirit enough to embrace it, but I always find myself snarling in a corner, like a scared tiger.
Me too. Kitch. Me too. xoxo
My own transitions of this past year have been much, much harder than I ever anticipated – on several levels. Some are not so great, others are wonderful, and most – as with much of life – a mixed bag.
What I know is this: I must maintain my willingness to battle back the blues, or worse – paralysis. That’s fear of the unknown taking hold, and life will come and go whether I’m afraid of it or not.
But when I can battle back the fear, I’m more energized to enjoy what is good in the present, more able to put the inevitable irritations of aging in a larger context, and even to look forward.
It’s not easy, Rudri. Some days I fail miserably. Other days, I do better. And it’s especially difficult – I know – when you see those around you with health problems and you are fully aware of your own mortality. But since we’re all going to go at some point – why not do what we can to live our good moments as fully as possible?
Lovely post, Rudri. One of my biggest challenges is living in the present; being right here, right now, and letting go of my fears, letting go of the past and welcoming what is to come. Life moves. Life changes. But for today, we are here.
I must remind myself that for today, we are here. It is difficult, in the thick of transition, to remember that. But I know it is essential to allow yourself to move one. Thanks for your words.
I felt this keenly today, and now I’m tired like a washed out rag. In other words I feel you and your sentiments, hoping that loving kindness and all manner of connection get us through, maybe even get us to a deeper, freer, more playful place. It seems there’s something in the air beyond clouds at the moment. Namaste
Bruce,
Sending you some loving kindness energy. Oh and yes, always wanting a place of peace and of a deeper freedom. Grateful for your words. Thank You.
I have reminded myself of my grandmother lately. She was so resistant to change. She was forever saying, “Time flies so fast” and “Why do people have to move away?” and “I wish it was like before…”
My youngest just lost a upper front tooth. His face looking more and more like a little man and not a boy. With a daughter in college, I am well aware of how fast time flies. And like my grandmother, I want to stop it.
Instead, I must teach myself to savor, savor, savor and savor some more. Every step. Every transition. Because with every transition comes new adventure.
Jane,
I think we are all eager to stop all the transitions, but I often wonder, what is the alternative? Would we really want to time to stop? I suspect if we had that power, then we would strive for change or a transition. A catch 22 I think. I like your use of the word savor – that’s all we’ve got. xoxo
Gorgeous writing. I have a perennial feeling of going through a transition, Maybe because I feel every bit of change, big or small, deeply. Impermanence is a notion I keep close. Everything changes and there’s nothing I can do about it but ride the wave.