"Beginnings are always messy....." - John Galsworthy

I have a friend who is a self proclaimed "change junkie".  She loves everything about change - the newness, the planning, the feeling that she is always on the edge of the next best thing.  I have to agree with her.  The early stages of anything are full of promise and possibility, doors seem to open effortlessly, and there is a sense of purpose that is not often present in the day to day maintenance of a project.

While I love the changes, it is often the transitions that immobilize me.  William Bridges has done quite a bit of work around the psychology of transitions, both personally and organizationally.  He speaks to the "change" as an isolated event that begins the journey of transition between the old and the new.  Changes can be life events - births, deaths, marriage, divorce, job changes or career moves - or can happen within organizations - a restructuring, growth, downsizing, or new leadership.

Bridges makes the point that the change itself rarely is unmanageable, but that is is actually the way the "after" is handled - the transition - that makes the new reality a success or an uncomfortable failure.  It is in acknowledging the loss inherent in change that we are able to grow confidently in the new direction.

Through a process of grieving - or sometimes celebrating - the loss of what was, we open ourselves up to what Bridges names the "neutral zone".  This is a place where all things are possible and, with solid supports, we are able to be at our most creative.  This can also be a wilderness of uncertainty, a "psychological no man's land", a place where there are no real answers and where the end product is unclear.  The old way is gone, and yet the new way is not yet grounded.

I find myself quite often in this neutral zone lately.  I am grieving some significant losses - a regular paycheck, the camaraderie of co-workers, a well defined scope of work with concrete tasks to complete, and even the accountability of having a "boss" to answer to.  I feel as if the very foundations of what identified me as a professional have been shaken to the point of collapse.

Through all of this, I am also experiencing some bright spots of a new reality.  I have been able to replace professional relationships with long neglected friendships, reconnecting with women who feed my soul through understanding and shared experiences.  I have given myself permission to rest, and to remember what feeling whole and grounded feels like.  Like many others with demanding careers, young children, husbands, pets, and seemingly endless household tasks, I have lost sight of what "healthy" is.  I am working to reclaim both my physical and emotional health by not giving in to the constant pressure to "do", and spending some time each day just "being".

It has not been easy.  I have defined myself as what I "do" for so long, that I have forgotten to connect with who I am, and it is an unsettling and uncomfortable process.  Societally, we measure a person's worth by their contributions.  Those who have "important" jobs are seen as more valuable, more interesting.  We use our careers, our clothes, and our bank accounts to shield us from authentically connecting with others, and ultimately, with ourselves.

I am slowly taking baby steps out of the neutral zone to try on the new beginning.  I have lined up a couple of small early childhood consulting jobs, taken on a few interior re-design projects for friends, and am getting used to wearing yoga pants to pick the kids up after school.  I have named my new business, created business cards, followed up on some long ignored medical issues, and taken a couple of naps in front of the fireplace.  I know that at some point in the near future I will have to let go of the trapeze and trust that the other one will be there for me to grab, but for now I am content to let the process happen in it's own time.

The Big Leap

I have a confession to make - I am not really as brave as I have made myself sound.  For the past month, I have pretended that the leap from a well established career in early childhood to a yet-to-be-developed business in interior decorating was a well thought out decision.  My contract with my previous employer ended yesterday, and today I am terrified.

I have always wanted to work in the creative arts in some way – I have just never believed that I had any talent.  My grandmother is a painter, my dad a builder, my aunt a doll artist, my mom a seamstress.  I have always been awed by each of them and their ability to create a “something” from raw materials -  a formal dress shaped from a bolt of lifeless fabric, a house rising out of a cavernous hole in the earth, frothy waves appearing  from a palette of lifeless colors, or the tray of random arms, legs, and heads that suddenly becomes a dainty fairy.

Over the years, I have become increasingly frustrated with my inability to create.  I am hopeless with a sewing machine, can barely tell a skill saw from an allen wrench, and hate the smell of turpentine.  I will never be a painter, a builder, a seamstress…..or, for that matter, a potter, sculptor, crafter, or photographer.

I have always used my space as an outlet for stress. My family jokes that they know when it has been a bad day because they come home to a new house – the furniture rearranged, a room repurposed, the closets and drawers cleaned out.  During really rough times, we remodel kitchens, build additions, and add gardens. Putting my space in order is a way for me to control what feels uncontrollable.

In July, I had dinner with a very wise mentor.  Her art is in shaping the spirits of people.  In the unexplainable synchronicity of the universe, she is currently building a house.  Through our conversation over sushi, she was able to mirror back to me my previously elusive art. 

I can “feel” spaces the way my grandmother sees a landscape on canvas, the way my aunt knows how all of those random clay body parts will form a doll, and the way my dad can put together a pile of 2 x 6s into a kitchen.  When I am in a space, I can see it’s unique potential – the way that the placement of furniture, the right wall color, and perfect accessories can bring out it’s best self – and the best in those who live and work there.  I have always known I could do this; the revelation was that not everyone can.

Like all artists, I have come to a place in my life where I must create.  It is simply no longer possible for me not to.  That same mentor shared this with me:   “You have a gift that you accepted before you were born.  Saying no to that gift is saying no to the universe itself.  You can either make the choice to use it on your terms, or wait until the universe makes the decision for you – but it is inevitable.” 

So, I have decided to do this on my terms as much as possible. For now, I am going to try and keep a foot in both worlds to potentially avoid the starving artist stage. In the immediate future, I need the emotional security blanket of the known as I try out the new.  We will see how that goes – there may come a time when the risk of not giving over myself wholeheartedly becomes more of a risk than the financial worries.

Thanks to all of you for supporting me on this journey.  I can’t wait to hear about the risks that you have taken – or wish you had the courage to take.  Please share!