Showing posts with label transitions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transitions. Show all posts

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Memory Time: Thursday's Reflection


When you return to a location where you once lived, you are apt to
be flooded with memories. That happened when we were in Madison to attend the 50th wedding anniversary party of dear friends. We lived in Madison for six years prior to moving back to St Paul. 


During that brief visit we went to our favorite bookstore in Spring Green, Arcadia Books. Don't miss it if you are in the area. We had lunch at a favorite restaurant Villa Dolce and enjoyed the pear gorgonzola pizza once again. 

The day after the party we drove to Monches Farm, a favorite nursery and gift shop about an hour away from Madison. 

As we drove down familiar streets and roads, we reminisced about the many things we enjoyed during the years we lived there. I guess this was a memory lane time. 

Since moving back to St Paul, I have tended to think about the Madison years as a transition time between our years in Ohio and the return to where we had raised our family. It can be challenging to be present and live fully when the next big thing is looming, but not quite happening. And part of our life in Madison was consumed by the next step.

But those years were not only about being in-between one place and another. We lived there. We made friends there. Bruce had a demanding and meaningful job there. Our home was often filled with family and friends. We developed a list of "favorites,"and a comfortable loop of life. We created memories. 

How good it was to be reminded that we had lived there, lived as fully as we could. How good it is to be reminded of the gifts in one's life. 

An Invitation
Is there something in your life that can be viewed in more than one way? I would love to know. 


Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Tuesday's Reflection: Transitioning into Fall



This wondering led to wondering what to wear. I stood in my closet, which is way too full, embarrassingly full. I know I should never, ever say, "I don't have anything to wear." I don't say that, at least not very often, but in these early days of fall, I have a hard time deciding what to wear. Is it time to put away clothes that are clearly summer attire and get out clothes that fit this new season better? Do I just dress in layers, knowing that at some point in the day I can shed a sweater and roll up long sleeves? Do I wear a summer blouse with jeans instead of capris or ankle pants? Will this be the year I break my mother's code of no white after Labor Day and wear the white jeans that have been my go-to pants so much of the summer?

As my sister says, this is a First World Problem, meaning deciding what to wear now that we have turned the calendar page is a trivial and minuscule issue, and I agree, totally and completely. However, what I know about myself is that these kinds of everyday and ordinary questions lead me to exploring bigger questions. 

These are days of transition. We aren't quite summer, but we aren't quite fall. True, the trees seem a deeper, denser green than they did  a couple months ago, but I see no sign of reds or oranges or golds yet. Lawns and gardens have that almost overgrown look to them, almost tired, saying "We have done our job, folks. It is time to put us to bed." There is still enjoyment to be gleaned from them, however, and frost is not yet predicted. True, we have not been using the air conditioner in our bedroom the last few nights, but it is certainly possible we will need it for a night or two this month, making it too early to remove it. True, the market is full of apples and squash already and making soup sounds delectable, but the ice cream truck still makes a sweep of our neighborhood every evening. 

Soon we will know we are in the midst of fall, and this past summer will be a memory. We will talk more about the coming of winter than we do the passing of summer. We will have made this seasonal transition successfully, and that is all in the natural order of things, but let's not move from point A to B without learning something about who we are when we know we are in transition. Transition is an ongoing fact of life. We are always in transition of some kind, so let's get friendly with it. 

As I stood in my closet this morning, surrounded by possibilities, I realized I am more indecisive when I am in transition. The choices, which are often opposite of each other, all seem plausible and positive. White jeans? Maybe. Sweater? I guess.  I have trouble committing. None of the choices seem quite right. What seemed like a good choice yesterday doesn't today. Before going to church on Sunday I discarded more than one total outfit, as if anyone would care. I was looking for my own comfort, however. I wanted to know what made sense for me in that moment and what would lead me into the next season. Lead me, not plop me there before the time was right. 

I am indecisive when I move from past to a new present. I normally make decisions easily and quickly, and I had not realized that is not the case when I am in a transition. 

Before fall was signaling its entrance and when summer was in control, I had a clearer vision of what I would be and do once the leaves were falling, but now in these in-between moments those plans and thoughts seem hazy to me. I want to hold onto the lazier aspects of the almost gone season and be able to say for just a bit longer, "This fall I will…" and "When summer is over I plan to…" Well, guess what? I no longer look over a hill at fall, I am standing right outside its gate. The other side of the gate with the goals I have set for myself and the classes I have signed up for (What was I thinking?) ready to start, I am having second thoughts.

That's what happens when we are in transition. The past seems more appealing no matter how hard we worked to leave it, and the future looks risky or empty or just like too much work. 

What makes sense in this moment?  

William Bridges in his classic book, Transitions, Making Sense of Life's Changes http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B004ZY23TS offered wonderful advice, and I consult his words of wisdom often. Right now in this moment, however, what makes the most sense for me  is to be in the present moment as fully as possible. In the transition I can live in the blend of the summer that is fleeting and the fall that is awakening. I can recognize that my indecision is a way of noting the change. I can pause and catch my breath, trusting that what I have planned as a way of answering "what's next?" will unfold in its own time and way. And I can remember that this is just one transition in my life. I have weathered many in my 66 years and more are yet to come, leading to the most important one of all. 

An Invitation
How do you respond to transitions? What is your default behavior when you are in transition? Is that behavior a sign you are in transition? I would love to know. 





Thursday, July 31, 2014

Thursday's Reflection: Our Commuter Marriage is About to End


Yahoo! This evening is the last time my husband will drive here from Madison and not return there on Sunday. For the last eight months Bruce has made the weekly round trip, and he has been such a good sport about doing that. Actually, I have been a good sport as well. We recognized how fortunate this arrangement has been as we have transitioned to life in St Paul. 

But enough is enough, and it is time to live in the same place full-time once again. Even though we both handle separation and being alone just fine, after almost 43 years of marriage, we would rather be together than apart.

Learning As It Happens
Still, I know there will be some adjustment. I am used to having the house by myself, and Bruce is used to coming and going on his own. Even though we are so eager for this change, I know there will be bumps along the way. Last weekend we experienced a minor tease of what could be ahead. 

The night he got home I told him I needed to do two errands the next morning.  That next morning while I was getting ready to leave, he called out that he was going to get coffee. No problem, until I had my keys in my hand and my purse on my arm and discovered he had taken my car. Yes, I could have taken his car, but I knew it was road weary, a polite way to say this car has LOTS of miles on it, and maybe it even needed gas. I decided not to wait till he got home, but called him and was pleased he answered his phone--that's another one of those ongoing discussions--and told him I needed my car. When he got home in a few minutes, he said I could have taken his car and I said HE could have taken his car. We laughed and moved on, but this silly incident was an indication of how used we are to functioning on our own. 

Yes, he has been here every weekend, but weekends have been play time, our elder version of Disney Time, and not much about the everyday routine of living in the same space. In some ways we will have to learn how to live together again. And the new wrinkle is that Bruce will be working from home the equivalent of three days a week with his desk, formerly known as the lady's writing desk, in the living room, almost the center of the house. How will that be? Will the fact that I like to listen to the radio when I am in the kitchen bother him? Will I need to wear a headset? Will he keep the desk looking neat and orderly? How much time will he need to be there and when? Is he interruptible? Am I? How do I establish and stick to my priorities? Will I always feel a need to respond when he wants to take a break and do something? What will our days look like? 

None of these questions are earth-shattering, and we have promised each other we will be hyper-communicative, but this is new territory and feels even more unknown because of the pattern of these last eight months.  

Opportunities for Change and Growth
This change makes me think how often older people are referred to as inflexible and unwilling to change, and even stubborn, just at a time in life when we are asked to and need to change even more. Retirement, even partial retirement, is a huge change and one that requires a set of skills that don't always seem to fit together. Be independent, but be collaborative. Be helpful, but stay out of the way. Be spontaneous, but find your own routine. Share space, but create your own space. Delegate, but not like a boss. Adjust, but be clear about your needs. 

Recently, I asked a friend, who has been retired for a few years, along with her husband, how it has gone. She laughed (A common response to that question!) and said the first year was great. Full of fun day trips and spontaneity and real pleasure being together. It was the second year that was trickier. The temporary vacation mentality turned into days settling into routine and accommodation. That's when the real adjustment began. 

Another friend was grateful her husband retired first, for he learned how to function on his own without benefit of a work schedule and colleagues to support him. He even had dinner waiting when she got home from work, discovering he enjoyed cooking. I am more than willing to be the cook in the family, and Bruce has always done a good job cleaning the kitchen,  never shying away from domestic duties. My good fortune!

The Real Issues
While those issues are important, they are not the crux of the matter. I am shocked that we are at this point in our life. How did we get here so fast? Our daughter turns 40 in August. How is that possible? It seemed like we coasted almost blindly through our years for so long, going to work every day, paying the bills, collapsing in front of the tv or falling asleep while reading a book, exhausted from days overflowing with activities and tasks. We never really envisioned that one day so much would come to a halt. It's not that we fear retirement or worry about filling our days or figuring out what's next, but the hourglass has more sand in the bottom than in the top, and we can't quite believe it. 

Some of us have been proactive, making changes in our lifestyle, even before retiring. We have a number of friends who have sold their family homes and moved into a home that promises easier living or have moved to be closer to family, as we have done. Downsizing and simplifying is a common mantra, and is a good thing, but in some ways it masks the bigger issue. We are doing this because we are aging, and we want to maintain some control over our lives. We hope our decisions will make the tough years less tough.  

Anyone in this post 65 age bracket is living their own scenario. Some have been forced to retire because of serious health issues. Some have retired and then are quickly faced with catastrophic illness. Some don't want to retire and are forced to, and others would love to adopt the "retired" label, but economic issues prevent that. Some couples are at odds with one another, discovering opposing hopes and dreams for this time or are facing issues that have been buried for too long. Some are still figuring out what they want to do with their lives only to discover they have lived most of their life. 

The truth is I don't know--none of us knows--what this part of the journey will bring. We know where it ends, but we don't know how and what will happen along the way. In the meantime I intend to do the best I can, take deep breaths, reach further into my spiritual being, and give thanks for the privilege of viewing life as a woman in her 60's. 

An Invitation
What advice do you have about retirement? If you are retired, what have you learned? What has surprised you? Is there anything you wish you had done differently or sooner? Where has your strength come from? I would love to know.

Bonus: Here are links to a couple blogs I think you will find valuable. The first is a lovely view of the flow of the day, and the next is a deep exploration of a recent loss. 
http://movingoutgranni.wordpress.com/2014/07/21/on-plum-splatters-the-dog-is-back-books-birthdays-and-the-shiny-red-bike/

http://coachnotes.wordpress.com/2014/07/29/learning-in-the-dark-grief-loss-and-other-taxing-teachers/

Thursday, March 6, 2014

March's Meditation: Endings and Beginnings

The first Thursday of each month I offer you a meditation to use during the month. Here is the meditation for March. 

Even though winter is still very much with us, at least here in Minnesota, the air is just a little different, fresher, lighter, yes, springier. The other day our neighbors' tree with its berry-filled branches extending into our yard was full of robins. I kid you not! Stores display pastel colored lightweight sweaters, and when I grocery shop I am drawn to the forsythia and tulips and pussy willows in the flower section. I no longer get up in darkness when my alarm goes off at 6:30, nor do I need to turn on lights quite as early at the end of the day. 

We are in a time of endings and beginnings. 

This has been a harsh winter in many parts of the country, not just Minnesota, and many of us welcome these signs leading us into the beginning of a new season. But we are realistic and know that the ending leading to the beginning is a process and may include delays and false starts and yes, more storms and freezing temperatures. And yet, spring will come. 

This is a good time to consider what endings you are confronting in your life right now and what beginnings you glimpse ahead of you. Some endings are clear--the death of someone you love or the loss of a job or a status you have held for a long time--and others are more subtle, such as an awareness of a change in your own stamina or energy as we age or a shift in how you want to spend your days. Many endings are unchosen and unwanted, but you know, even though it is difficult to imagine the beginning, it is time to confront the status quo. 

A Meditation of Endings and Beginnings
I invite you to sit in a quiet place and close your eyes lightly, not tightly. Take a couple deep cleansing breaths and allow your body to relax into slow, even breathing.

Imagine yourself looking out a window, seeing the landscape change before your very eyes. One season is ending, blending into a new season. The color of the sky is changing from an icy grey-blue to a warmer pink. The trees begin to look just a bit fuller --no sign of green yet, but you can sense branches beginning to welcome their own new growth. What do you notice?

Open yourself to your own new season. What endings are beginning to happen in your own life and what beginnings are dawning for you? What changes are you almost ready to welcome--not quite perhaps, but the almost imperceptible direction is in your heart and on your own branches? 

Imagine yourself shedding heavy coats and gloves and hats. How does that feel? What else needs to be shed in order to live fully in the new season? What is melting? As you enter spring what remnants of the colder season do you need to leave behind? Is there a chance of flooding and how will you prepare? 

How do you feel as you take these new steps? As you embark on a new beginning? Are you excited and eager? Scared? Uncertain? All of the above? 

Now is a good time to take another deep breath.  Relax and restore yourself to slow, even, in and out and in and out breathing. Remind yourself of all the seasons of life you have moved through. So many endings and beginnings, beginnings and endings. You know how to do this. You can do this one, too. 

Spring will come, and then we will have summer and fall and yes, another winter. More chances to practice endings and beginnings. What is it you want to begin in this new season and what is asking to be ended?

Take a couple deep breaths, and when you are ready, open your eyes and return to this time and pace. Take a few minutes to note, perhaps in a journal or by whispering to yourself, what you felt, noticed, or learned during this brief time of meditation. What will you now bring into your life?

A Gift and a Blessing
          What we call the beginning is often the end
          And to make an end is to make a beginning.
          The end is where we start from. 
                             T. S. Eliot
                             "Little Gidding"

May all be well as you move from season to another. 
May you do so with awareness and intention.
May you honor your own steps.
May you find peace as you end and as you begin. 

An Invitation
What endings and beginnings are present in your life right now? What are the gifts and the challenges? Of course, not all endings and beginnings are major, but even the minor ones have lessons for us. What are you learning? I would love to know. 






  


Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Tuesday's Reflection: Settling In?

"Are you getting settled?" That's the question I am asked most frequently these days, and the answer is, "Yes, but no."

Yes.
The answer is "yes," when I interpret the question to mean, "Are you happy to have made the move from Madison to St Paul?" "Do you feel like you made the right decision to move back to where you raised your family and where your grandkids and your 90 year old father live?" I answer a resounding "yes," to those questions.


No.
However, the answer is just as resounding when the question refers to unpacking boxes and finding the right spot for all our stuff and putting the house together as if we have lived here a long time. "NO," I answer without hesitation, but, I must admit, with a weary tone. 

We were on our way to being settled. The bookshelves in my garret-office on the upper half story are all unloaded and arranged alphabetically, and my desk is in position. My closet is organized and one bedroom looks serene and inviting---that is, when the plastic curtain is removed at night after the painters have gone home.

You see, right now we are sharing our home with a great crew of painters, and thanks to my decision to have all the woodwork on the first floor of this 1920's house painted, we are living in what feels like an isolation ward. I won't go into the involved process, which involves spraying rather than brushing on the primer and other needed coats, but suffice it to say, I am not settled.

The plan had been for this to be done before we moved in, but life intervened for our painter, and the plan needed to be revised. I absolutely understood and after all, I am practiced in thinking Big Picture. At some point the painting will be done, and I will be able to fix a good home cooked meal again and I won't get up in the middle of the night and trip on the plastic sheeting on the floor. 

At some point there will be no more boxes in the bathtub http://clearingthespace.blogspot.com/2014/01/january-reflection-getting-being.html and I can even take a bath. What a concept! However, allow me to whine. I am a tired of taking the long view and am eager to luxuriate in being settled. 

Words of Wisdom
I need a pep talk. 

Here's Melody Beattie http://melodybeattie.com in Journey to the Heart, Daily Meditations on the Path to Freeing Your Soul to the rescue:

      Whatever you're working on, whatever you're in the midst of doesn't need to be finished, in perfect order, with all the loose ends in place for you to be happy.
      For too many years, we worried and fretted, denying ourselves happiness until we could see the whole picture, learn the entire lesson, cross every t and dot each i. That meant we spent a lot of stressful time waiting for that one moment when the project was complete.
      Enjoy all the stages of the process you're in. The first moments when the germ of the idea finds you. The time before you begin, when the seed lies dormant in the ground, getting ready to grow. The beginning, and all the days throughout the middle. Those bleak days, when it looks like you're stuck and won't break through. Those exciting days, when the project, the lesson, the life you're building takes shape and form.
      Be happy now. Enjoy the creative process--the process of creating your life, yourself, and the project you're working on--today. Don't wait for those finishing moments to take pleasure in your work and your life. Find joy all along the way.  (p. 37)

I need to remember that three months ago we didn't own this house in St Paul; one month ago we had not sold our Madison house and we were in the thick of packing to move into this house; and just 10 days ago--we were on the eve on the movers coming to move us here. No longer do I wonder when our house will sell nor do I daydream about where we will settle in St Paul.

In a week, a month, our life in this home could, most likely will, look quite different from the way it looks now. Each day brings progress towards the look we have envisioned for this house, and I feel so fortunate to have these excellent craftspeople working to make that happen

And in the meantime I feel more and more settled into a life here--being with friends and family and reacquainting myself with favorites from the past and discovering the new. I'm not unpacking boxes, but I am writing and reading and meditating. All that is cause for great joy. Now.



An Invitation
What unfinished project seems to be preventing you from feeling joy today, right now? What can you do to live with joy now. I invite you to share your recipe for joy even as your current life feels unsettled. 






Sunday, March 10, 2013

Crossing a Threshold, A Post by Nancy L. Agneberg

It's Sunday morning, the first morning of the new "spring forward" time, and a house showing was scheduled for 9:15 a.m. I am never thrilled with a Sunday morning showing, but this one on a foggy, wet, and cold morning was even more of a stretch. I reassured myself, however,  as we walked back into the house at 10:20, that at least now we have a whole uninterrupted day ahead of us. A lazy Sunday is still possible. 
     At the same time I thought about the potential buyers who had crossed our threshold that morning. I am always curious about the story. Who are they? Where are they from? Why are they looking for a house now and what are their hopes and dreams for their new home? Do those hopes and dreams consist of more than granite counter tops in the kitchen and an open concept floor plan? Instead, do they think about how they can grow in a house and how a house will shelter them in good times and bad? Do they imagine gatherings in the dining room and where they will put the Christmas tree or the menorah? Do they envision themselves becoming older and wiser in this house? 
     We have welcomed over 50 different sets of buyers and realtors to our home since putting it on the market last May. Out of those 50 a number of them have expressed interest, although, much to our disappointment and I admit, surprise, there have been no offers, and of course, I wonder about their situations. What needs to happen in their lives in order for them to move forward? When their next step happens will we also be able to move forward? 
     I wonder as the door opens to our home and potential buyers step over the threshold if they realize they are taking a sacred step. Anthony Lawlor in his book, A Home for the Soul: A Guide for Dwelling with Spirit and Imagination, writes, "The Threshold marks the boundary of transition, the line which must be crossed to enter new realms of experience." Sarah Ban Breathnach in Moving On reminds me that the French use an expression, le foyer, which refers both to the entry space surrounding the door where one enters a home, but also the pleasures of the "hearth," an invitation to come in, relax and feel at home. 
     Recently, as I crossed the back threshold into our home --screened porch to my office-- after a showing, I was overwhelmed by an almost melancholy feeling. I felt the light touch of a veil separating me from my life in this house; a momentary view of this house where I live becoming someone else's house, a house where I once lived. I experienced a brief, but real moment of separation anxiety. This is what we are wishing for, right? Are we doing the right thing? I imagined the fleeting fear or doubt of a bride who has said "yes," and is standing at the threshold, the long aisle in front of her. 
     The feeling only lasted a moment, but was real, nonetheless. I felt my cheeks flush. I even felt slightly faint. Am I ready for this next step? This next sacred step. The unknown new and next threshold in my own life. Yes! 
     I have started working on a writing project that centers on the topic of moving, something I have done many times in my life, and here I am preparing to move yet again. As I explore this topic in my life, I realize what I am really writing about is transitions. Transitions as rites of passage, as "sacred right-of ways," as Breathnach says. What transitions are front and center in your life right now? In what ways are you ready, but are there also moments when you feel the need for more preparation, a pause? What spiritual practices support you as you cross a threshold? 
     I have no idea what this morning's guests to our home felt as they crossed the threshold and walked from room to room. I hope they felt a welcoming spirit, even if this is not the right home for their future. I wish them well, and I hope they left us good wishes for the transition we are hoping to make in our own lives.   

Friday, November 16, 2012

On the Bridge, the Spiritual Practice of Transitions a post by Nancy L. Agneberg


    I am frequently aware of being in the midst of transition, and that interests me and becomes an opening for examination of both my inner life, as well as what is swirling around me in my outer life. 
   Fall into Winter
   This morning I noticed evidence of transitions as I walked through the neighborhood. Mainly, the transition between fall and winter, between Halloween and Christmas. Pumpkins, some almost melting in on themselves thanks to frosty nights, along with pots of mums, browning and losing an intensity of color still dominate the scene, but at the same time Christmas decorations are beginning to appear. Greens in window boxes. Lights on trees. Even an artificial Christmas tree on a front porch where pumpkins still march up the stairs. We know we are not quite done with one season, but still there is the temptation and inclination to move into the next season. We treasure and exalt Thanksgiving as a holiday that demands little of us except turkey and mashed potatoes and offers us a chance to express gratitude for our many blessings, but at the same time time, we feel the urgency of Christmas looming ahead in a countdown of shopping days. I say this not to pass judgment or to plead for simplicity and sanity. Instead, I think about the movement in our lives.
     A Transition of the Heart
     Earlier this week my husband needed a heart catheterization in order to determine if the symptoms he was experiencing were the result of blockage and damage to the heart. The good news is that no stent or bypass is needed, but instead drug therapy is proscribed, along with some life style changes that will be good for both of us. The day in the hospital awaiting the procedure was long, but we both remained calm and patient. Bruce rested, and I gazed out the window with its soothing view of Lake Monona over the bare treetops.  Time to breathe and time to be. 
      Later I thought about how my diagnosis of uterine cancer 10 years ago when I was 54 felt like an experience out of time.  Not in the rightful order of things. I felt too young for that to happen. A totally unrealistic assumption, of course. Now we are 64, and as we face this wake up call, it feels as if we are taking a major step into the next stage of our life.  We can't dismiss the possibility of physical issues beyond the norm of colds and flu. Dear friends face cancer or recover from surgeries of various kinds. We are getting older. We are in transition. 
     Bridge Work
     When I meditated the other day, a word arrived in my heart. Bridge. That is how this time feels. We are on a bridge. At times the bridge seems to sway in a strong wind and at times I lose sight of where I have come from, and the way ahead is not very clear, but I don't feel threatened by that. Instead, I am aware of the importance to take every step, to stop and pause often. To breathe and to be. 
     The morning of the heart cath I spent my meditation time with   the new book, Seven Thousand Ways to Listen, Staying Close to What is Sacred, by one of my spiritual guides, Mark Nepo and was given a gift of two words: unplanned unfoldings. This is how transition feels to me. Nepo says, "The larger intention is to stay in relationship with everything that comes along, at least long enough to taste what is living." As I become aware of where I am on the bridge, I pray I accept the invitation of unplanned unfoldings to live fully with love, instead of fear. 
NOTE: As I have been writing this post I have observed a hawk on a nearby tree. As I entered the last word, he flew away. I am grateful for his watchful presence.