For the Times Everything Feels Up in the Air

Learning to trust what's unfolding, and stay open in the murky middle a little bit longer

Life changes constantly: jobs shift, things happen, kids grow up, relationships evolve, plans get disrupted, changes “fail,” new opportunities appear out of the blue.

And what are we really talking about here - what is change, what is a “transition”? We often speak as if it’s one thing, but I suspect there are as many definitions as there are people. A transition can be sudden or gradual, big or small, short or seemingly never-ending. It can come as a shock, or it can be something we planned for. And depending on who we are, and what day it is, we might navigate that transition in very different ways.

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For me right now, as part of my own transition phase, I’ve been re-writing my website. It’s still a work-in-progress, but I want it to reflect more authentically who I am as a coach now, compared to five years ago.

So, I’ve still not answered the question (and maybe that says something about the question). What is a transition, your transition, and this current change or transition really about, for you? Is it about an external change, or about who we’re becoming? How big a picture, how long a time horizon do we want to take on this?

William Bridges(1), whose work on transitions has shaped a lot of thinking in this area, draws a distinction between change and transition. Change is external: a new system, a new job, a move, a divorce, a health diagnosis. Transition is internal: the psychological and emotional process we go through to adapt. It’s not linear, and it usually involves three broad movements, endings and letting go, the neutral zone, and then a new beginning.

For me, that makes sense. Our situation might change overnight: our security, our relationships, our identity, our work. But whether we change alongside it, and how quickly, is another matter. Often there’s a lag. Sometimes a very long lag.

And for some, transtions are not only long, but also dark, arduous, demoralising and exhausting. Not all, of course. Some transitions are about new beginnings and fresh starts. Energising, meaningful, joyful, renewing. They might reflect shifting values, healing, or growth. Sometimes they come through a happy unexpected event. Or, even if they begin as a difficult shock, as per Kübler-Ross(2), once through the hardest part there can be relief, new horizons, and a sense of optimism.

Our brains need change, freshness, and novelty. Yet when there is too much change, or change that drags on without stability, the experience can be exhausting, scary, confusing, and disorienting. We could view it as a polarity: change on one end and stability on the other. There’s a tension between the two, and we need both. Without enough security, grounding, or routine, ongoing change becomes especially hard.

We ask ourselves, with doubt rising: when will this end, where are the green shoots, is something new beginning, or am I doing all the wrong things (hello, inner critic)?

Deep transitions may be rough. Yet I wonder if for these kinds of transitions, it may be impossible to truly move through without some form of falling apart. Nature shows us this: disintegration and integration are part of every cycle. Plants seed, grow, flourish, fruit, and die, returning to the soil so something new can take root. Liberating Structures refers to this as the “ecocycle”(3). Our minds, too, strive to return to a state of homeostasis.

Being lost, and sometimes falling apart, seems to be part of the path. Redefining the need for certainty, recognising where we do have agency, and letting go of the illusion of control. These are some of the hardest lessons.

Human brains like certainty. The trouble with transitions is that they’re not certain, and we have to find some way of being okay with the messy, murky, seemingly never-ending middle. That’s part of the process. I don’t like it either.

And yet, I know that while there are no easy answers or quick fixes, it helps, maybe even feels vital, to have someone to talk to. A real human.

Transitions are on my mind partly because so many people I know are in them right now. Job changes and shocks. Insecurity. The shifting world. Empty nest. Sudden loss. Aging parents. A change in identity. Relationship breakdowns. Health challenges. Stress symptoms. Planet anxiety. The list goes on. Life is shifting everywhere I look.

And when things shift and get unstable/uncomfortable, most of us default to familiar patterns:

• Fight: step forward, take charge, challenge, speak, act.

• Flight: get active, flee, or if that’s not possible, get really busy (human doings)

• Freeze: zone out, shut down, disconnect.

• Fawn: over-prioritise others’ needs to make things feel safer.

These responses have their place. They’ve kept us safe, they’ve got us this far, and sometimes they’re exactly what’s needed. But when we see our wiring, our patterns, we gain just a little more space and choice.

For example, staying open in the inquiry and exploration phase just a little longer before rushing toward an answer. That pause creates space for new conversations or surprising events.

And sometimes something small happens that feels like an affirmation, a faint sign that we might be on the right path. Even if we’re not sure how to trust it, that spark is worth noticing.

And while each of us navigates differently, none of us are meant to do it entirely alone. That, I think, is the heart of it.

1. Bridges Transition Model (William Bridges Associates). (n.d.). What is transition? Retrieved from https://wmbridges.com/about/what-is-transition/ William Bridges Associates

2. Kübler-Ross, E., & Kessler, D. (2005). On grief and grieving: Finding the meaning of grief through the five stages of loss. New York: Scribner.

3. Liberating Structures. (n.d.). 31. Ecocycle Planning. Retrieved from https://www.liberatingstructures.com/31-ecocycle-planning/

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