Transition

My husband and I are buying a wonderful home in Sedona, AZ, and we'll be moving there the first of May. In our new home we have the hills, the red rocks, the sky, and the earth--and a few stray golf balls. 

Every month or so, Harlan will return to the Austin/Houston area to work with his valued clients, and I'll continue to write blogs and books from Sedona, as well as work with a few coaching clients by phone.

When we decided to spend January in Sedona for the sake of my allergies, we had no idea we would make it our home. But as the days went by, we realized we wanted to live there. It was a gradual, gentle decision.

As we made our lists of pro's and con's, we realized the hardest part of the decision is leaving friends and neighbors. Of course, the friendships endure, but, as one put it, "We can't call and say, 'Meet us at the movies.' Or 'Let's have lunch.'" We won't be able to wave to you as we pick up the mail or walk the dogs.

But we'll find new ways to nurture old friendships, even as we welcome new friends.

You write it: What have you learned or gained from the transitions in your life?

Disappointment

By intention and design, I live a happy, peaceful life. Not having expectations and enjoying life one moment at a time is how I try to live.

But yesterday I was living the sentiment expressed in these lines from Emily Dickinson:  "A great hope fell. You heard no noise. The ruin was within."

My husband and I made an offer on a house that had been on the market for almost a year--a house with some issues due to its age, but redeemed by a fabulous, panoramic view. We went for it. Unfortunately, on the same day, someone else submitted a bid with a higher number than ours, and of course the owner accepted the higher offer. A great hope fell.

When we heard the news, I went silent. So did my husband. Finally, I was able to say, "I'm sad."

There was a day when I would have brushed my feelings aside, said, "Oh, well," and pushed ahead, refusing to feel. But today I have come to understand that it's better for me to feel the feeling and move through it. Perhaps the truest statement I made was to our realtor. I said, "We're heartbroken. Give us some time and we'll try again."

Today is a new day, and I'm grateful for the experience my husband and I had together as we went through the process of making the offer. I choose to believe there's another house for us that will meet all of our needs, one where we can live happily. And that's the most important thing.

You write it:  How do you handle disappointment?

Transformation

Growing up, my daughter was quiet and shy. She relied on other people to speak for her in social situations. As she grew older, she had difficulty maturing into adulthood.

Recently I spent a few days with the independent, strong woman she has become. What created the transformation? You'll have to ask her; that's her story.

As her mother, my observation is that she moved to a city she loves, far away from everyone she knew. She bought a house in the section of that city that perfectly fits the lifestyle she wants. She kept changing jobs until she found one that suits her innate abilities, unique skills, and educational preparation. For many years she has been in a relationship with someone who loves, supports, appreciates, and takes pride in her. They live with two entertaining cats whom they adore, and they live within their means. They treasure their friends and neighbors.

In short, today she is confident and happy. What more could a mother want for her child?

You write it:  What gives you confidence, strength, happiness, and contentment?

From Mushiness to Clarity

About a year ago I made a career change. Instead of being a coach who also writes, I decided to be a writer who also coaches.

But I didn't phrase it in such a clear way. Instead, I said, "I'm going to see fewer clients in order to focus on my writing."

Writing has always come easily for me. It's fun, effortless. I even love revision. It doesn't seem like work.

Work has always driven me. It's been the pressure at my back, the weight on my shoulders. So to say writing is work seems strange. It's a new, light sensation. For the last year, I've felt adrift.

I think I'll stop using the word W O R K. When people ask what I do, I'll say, with a light heart, "I'm a writer who also coaches a few people with life and work issues."

This is how change goes for me, from mushiness to clarity. Once I'm clear, the change manifests.

You write it:  What are you being mushy about? By your mushiness, what change are you delaying? Are you ready to be clear?