A breeze, birdcall, sunshine: I’m currently sitting on our land about to plant the trees I wrote about last week. They’re wanting to be safe and sound in the ground before the late fall, winter chill sets in. You could say they’re in the transition between having arrived on our new piece of land and becoming a part of it by putting down their roots.

I’m feeling the same way. Although on some level it feels like we’ve been back on the east coast forevaaaa because it’s always felt like this geography is home, so much has happened to make the transition feel always changing. A dear friend (thank you, E) sent this quote to me yesterday: “The threshold between one season and another; between one moment and the next, between one way of being and the next one: There’s power there. If you can identify the demarcation and pause in it, you can turn your head one way and see where you’ve been, turn the other and see where you’re going. We’re doing so many things and moving so quickly that these moments usually slip by unacknowledged. We don’t realize we were in portal until we’ve already passed through it.” —Melissa Kirsch “Shoulder Season”

My aim is to pause in this immediate transition and notice. To take stock and not rush through. In this specific moment for me, there are myriad things in my life to pause at instead of resorting to my regular leap over the chasm to the next thing. I leap because I’m afraid of looking around (or down, rather), a bit like the roadrunner (cartoon version) where I think if I notice I’m suspended, then I’ll fall and all will be lost so I power on to what I feel is solid ground. But, ya know, I’ve lived on this earth long enough and passed through a good many transitions to know that while, sure, it’s great to have a plan of some sort or maybe just a generally formed idea, it also never actually unfolds exactly as I think it will (or should). Sh*t happens. All around with everyone I know, unexpected uprisings, challenging life issues, late trains, weird neighbors, scary politics, global visions that are, frankly, horrific and hard to bear. And here I am, always always in transition.

If I’m going to pause in transition, I’m going to want to take off my metaphorical blinders, slow down my proverbial stride, be willing to actually have all the feelings that will come with that space in between. And also come to face that this is, in fact, what growth looks like. Now I get to plant some young trees and between now in their sapling stage and over the years as they sprout into maturity, there will be many transitions and pauses because of course there will. That’s life.