Life is full of firsts.

First steps. First loves. First jobs.

And lasts.

Last days.  Last words. Last breaths.

And in between is life.  Life that is full of transitions.  Transitions that begin with firsts and end with lasts.

I feel like I am drowning in the rip currents of transitions these days.

So many things on the table that will be beginning or ending.  Events that mark milestones and passages of time.  Things that are in flux, moving with forward motion.  Circumstances that are happening whether I am ready or not.  And some that I orchestrate myself.

Change and transitions are part of life.  They are what make up life.  Were there no modulation or development we would grow cobwebs and suffocate beneath the dust bunnies of stagnation.  You can quote me on that.  😉

Change is good.  Transitions are necessary.  It means we are moving.  However, sometimes even the most exciting transitions can be stressful.  And some are just plain scary.  They bring to the surface the fear of the unknown.  And along with that may come loss.  The loss of a job, a way of life, a house, a relationship.  The loss of the comfort of how things used to be.  The loss of a part of ourselves that is no longer serving us.

[Tweet “Change is good. Transitions are necessary. It means we are moving forward.”]

As I try to navigate the many transitions I see on my horizon I wonder…do I sit back and let them happen?  Or is there something I must do to facilitate change?  And how do I know when to do each?

My relationships are in transition.  Sometimes as we grow, we realize what just doesn’t fit any more.

I am in transition.  I am anxious to “get a job”…kind of.   After staying home for 17 years, I am ready to dust off my professional self and return to a career that I love.  Or to find something new that I can feel excited about.  I feel ready for the next step.

My kids are in transition.

My youngest child is a senior in high school. I think back to the first day of school for my kids two years ago.  The first day of sophomore year for my daughter.  And the first day of the last year of high school for my son, my oldest

As I drove my daughter to school that morning she was complaining about going.  I said, “It is a beautiful day to start your sophomore year.”  I got the typical teenager eye roll.  I said, “Seriously, this is the first day of the year that leads to your destiny.”  This produced the expected, “Oh brother mom, you’re so weird,” response.

But it hit me.  Even though I said this to be dramatic, it really is the first day that leads to her destiny.  It’s the first day that leads to all the days to follow that will shape the course of her life.  The days that will lead her down the path she is meant to go.  That will ultimately take her on her own journey.

It also struck me that day, like a punch to the gut, that my son’s journey begins all too soon.  He is a senior.  And this first day may be the first day that leads to his destiny, but, it is also the day that takes him further away from me. In a few short months he will be graduating from high school and a couple of months after that his dad and I will be moving him into a college dorm.  I will be missing his presence in the house.  His and his sister’s banter.  His jokes.  His music.  His hugs.

And now, I am dealing with that same unsettling fear of transition with my daughter all over again.

My instinct is to hold tight when I know I need to start letting go.  They need to start becoming who they were meant to be…without my tight-fisted, white knuckled grasp.  With merely my arms outstretched to be their safety net should they fall.

[Tweet “My instinct is to hold tight when I know I need to start letting go.”]

Life is filled with these “first” days for all of us. Each day is a first.  A beginning. Each day we have a new opportunity to make choices that will shape our lives.

[Tweet “Each day we have a new opportunity to make choices that will shape our lives.”]

This is the first day that leads to MY destiny as well.  My kids will both be in college soon.  It begs to ask, “Just what do I want to be when I grow up?”

I wish the transitions on land were as easy to navigate as those in the water while I am surfing.

The transformation my body makes when changing from prone to upright once the force of the wave can be felt beneath me. The shift again to horizontal once the ride has ended.  The fluidity with which all these changes happen doesn’t phase me.  I don’t have to think about them. They are second nature.

These transitions are seamless.

I suppose it can be the same on land and sea.  Just as when I’m anticipating the next wave, I will be patient.  I will keep my eyes on the horizon and wait.

And as I feel the force beneath me I will learn to love the ride.

Salty Kisses,

Karen