Transitions

I find myself again at a point of transition. The cycle of change continues -- as it should -- but for the first time I am uncertain of just where I fit in. It's a process, I realize, that will be some time in the determining. I only know that where I have been is no longer "right."

Last fall I entered the realm of great-grandparent, a thrilling event fraught with change. And that's been good. I joined the world of the formally retired this spring, by virtue of getting Social Security, and that's been good. I've also joined a cycle of craftmanship by virtue of my needlework, which I market at conventions and shows on a limited basis.

Yet I feel an emptiness within me that has not yet found a place to settle. I hate the city I am living in, hate it with a passion that grows stronger every day. But most of my family is here now. I have always placed the highest value on family.

I miss my old hometown with equal passion, though much of what I loved is fading, gone, or re-visioned. I am excited by that, though, and love the idea that it is changing, growing, after years of urban decay.

I haven't wanted to write in many many months, settling instead into the role of editor, working with other people's words. My own words are just beginning to come back, and I think they may come back with a vengeance. That's good. Do I want write from here? Probably not. I find little to inspire me here, and inspiration, not rote, is necessary to me.

I have a lot of friends here, in the broader sense of the word. I have very very few people I connect to on any deeper level. They've all moved away, moved on to something else. I sense that coming for me as well.

This is my year of transition. I'm not sure where I will land, but I know that I am not happy where I am. Sorting out the difference is -- difficult.

Perhaps in writing this I'll begin to sort it out and find that elusive place to settle. It sounds so wishy-washy to say this, but "we'll see."

Passages

Decades ago -- that makes me sound so old -- I read Gail Sheehy's Passages many times over, finding succinct bits and pieces of theory and analysis that have become benchmarks of a sort over the course of my life. "The size is the same but the fit is different" is one of those tidbits that describes a life ever-changing.

Sheehy categorized the cycles of growth and development, charting how we as humans move through various stages -- everything from teenage rebellion and the passage to our 20s, to midlife change (crisis included) to aging. Though our youth-oriented culture seems to fight these transitions, I never did, and often feel like a bit of an anachronism.

Turning 30 didn't phase me, 40 was a breeze, 50 was a piece of cake (I graduated college, started a masters program and climbed Machu Picchu), and 60 is just fine (even if my body is my body is doing a bit of an arthritic/back injury dance). Somehow, along my journey, my life has in fact fallen fairly neatly into those segments of passage, those transitions that seem to come in seven or eight year increments.

I feel another one coming on.

Sixty brought with it a variation on a hectic work schedule and a new injury to cope with. I am coping. Sometimes when life is steamrolling over us, we must be knocked flat; it's life saying stop and re-assess. For a month my brain focused on pain and pain management; sadness followed, linked in part to a holiday season filled with enjoyable temptations I could not partake of. I became angry at my inability to do some of the simplest things -- including standing at the stove making gravy for a holiday meal. I didn't have to cook the meal, just the gravy. I did it, but was "whipped" by my body for the rest of the day.

Not good, I said in a conversation with myself.

So what are we going to do about this physical quagmire and its mental morass, I said in a conversation with myself.

With ample time for contemplation, I sat by my windows, watching my birds, watching snow, waiting. I realized that in the hustle of business I had let go of my personal sustenance. No, not let go, but rather, let slip away those things that fuel my spirit. That was the first snippet of change.

I renewed my rituals of meditation, I began writing on a personal rather than professional level, handwritten scraps of poetry, narrative, and letters. I started a blog and joined A River of Stones.

I resurrected several projects, most which would have consumed a couple of hours just a year ago but now will take a week or more to complete, on bit or piece at a time. I break everything down to manageable parts. And I have my hand on a manuscript that I now believe must be a play. I've never written one before; I favor prose and dabble in poetry.

Returning to my place on the couch by the window, birdsong filtering in, I scratch notes and patterns and positions and dialogue. In my mind I see staging, movement, lighting. In my mind I hear dialogue, the rise and fall of voices from whisper to rage. In my mind I want to see a staged reading sometime in the next year or so, and must put pen to paper to make that happen. It is like nothing I have ever done before, which is the perfect reason to do it.

Right on time, I am entering another passage, taking a risk, moving along a new path. It's not a rejection or elimination of the old, just new addition. My life has been filled with them. I feel change surrounding me: missions accomplished (really accomplished) opens the door for growth and change.

I itemized in my mind what I have and don't have (a much longer list) where I live, what I miss, as well as what I want to have, and that brings with it more seeds of change. I don't know yet where all of this is going, and I certainly don't know when or where it will end. I am on the front end of formulating a plan.

The change of seasons are passages, and I view the coming of spring this year as still another of my life's new beginnings. Finally, I am beginning to feel alive again.

Before the beginning. The End.

Water. It's been a current, a force in my life, since -- forever. For a time I lived beside water, its presence shaping every move, mood, activity, and contemplation. That time and place are gone forever, but the lessons learned there -- and lost for a brief time -- are screaming for recovery.

In two days -- less than that, really -- a new year begins. The past year overflowed with hope, satisfaction, disappointment, ambition and dreams. A rather chaotic mix, some of which was beyond my control (Kharma -- good bad or indifferent) happens. Thus as the year ends I look back, pick up its assorted pieces, turn a critical eye to each shard and make a choice: tuck it away with sentimentality, discard it with yesterday's trash, or nurture it forward into its next manifestation.

It has been a monumental year in another way as well: I turned 60 this year. Turning 30, 40, even 50 were non-issues; I never bought into the "over the hill" mania. In truth, each decade brought its own beauty, colored by experience. Age simply didn't bother me. It still doesn't "bother" me. Sixty has, however, triggered much reflection and may be the impetus for change.

Change. Resetting priorities. The reason I came here will be fulfilled this year. And in the wake of an injury that was beyond my control, I have had ample time for contemplation.

Retirement tempts, as does relocation. The coming year will be one of thought, re-evaluation and possibly redirection. Every winter for at least three decades now I have revisited my personal 1-2-5 year goals and objectives, knowing that events and experience will shape-shift them. Nothing is carved in stone. Sometimes the shift is dramatic, sometimes subtle.

Missing my roots has been a powerful influence this year,more so than ever before, given the emerging issues and concerns facing friends and family up north. Even though I have planted a few new roots here, my life here is nowhere near what I left behind. Not even close. I can never begrudge my time here, but I can feel it reaching its inevitable end.

I cherish my family here, but are all entering various stages of growth and change. I've made wonderful friends here over the past six years, though most of them have already moved on. One of my first friends here in the South once said, "This is where you do your time before moving on to somewhere else." I guess that depends on where you are from, what you want in life, and what resources are the ones that nurture mind, body and spirit. I have, for a while, lost sight of that which has until recently sustained me.

Thus, as the new year dawns, I will be examining reasons to stay, and exploring resources to return to a place and a lifestyle that has always fulfilled me. Ever more strongly, I feel the first few years of this next decade will start with change.

I think again of water, of the waves washing ashore, shifting the shape of the shore one small, small piece at a time. Waves whispering to me.

I am listening.