#78: Alive, awake, participatory, and engaged.

A widow’s advice for facing big transitions.

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Another word for loss is transition.

I like it because it’s neutral.

We’ve probably lost a thing or two, and we’ve probably gained a thing or two. But we don’t always have to tally these categories to see which way the scales swing. Sometimes it’s enough to know that things have changed. 

A lot has changed in my life recently. I became an empty nester, I left my corporate career, I decided to get bangs. (Just kidding! I’m not that crazy. Kendall would have my head on a platter!) But even though the image in the mirror is pretty much the same, my day-to-day life is completely different without full-time gigs at V2X and Raising Teenagers, Inc.

In the eight months since I hugged Kendall goodbye in her sweltering New Orleans dorm room, and 100 days since I deleted my work email from my iPhone, I have come to understand some things:

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The key to facing any transition is to go in with eyes OPEN.

Often our knee-jerk reaction to anything uncomfortable is to do our very best to not feel it. “I gave at the office, Mr. Feelings. Stuff a sock in it!”

So we numb out, distract ourselves, and generally hide from the new reality we find ourselves in. 

But this “head in the sand” approach only deepens our suffering. When we are trying to not feel anything, we are missing all the ways we could actually be feeling better.  

• We miss the opportunity to pour out an entire ocean of tears, and realize that what comes next is relief.

• We miss the chance to be supported by loved ones, friends, even strangers who, if they knew even an iota of our suffering, would step into the breach with a hug, a kind word, a mason jar of chicken soup, a loaf of banana bread.

• We miss discovering that amidst a massive inner earthquake, we bend instead of break. 

• We miss the radiance in the dailiness.

• We miss learning which coping mechanisms, pattern interrupts, friends can pull us out of a funk. 

• We miss the opportunity to intentionally recreate our lives based on our new circumstances, new needs, and new desires.

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My motto for the last year has been, “alive, awake, participatory, and engaged.” 

But I didn’t understand the full significance of these words until I suddenly had an extra 60+ hours of weekly free time on my hands.

Time that previously I had been on autopilot — doing what I had to do to bring home the bacon, cook the bacon, wrangle the bacon-eating kids, serve the bacon, then clean up the kitchen splattered in bacon.

Not all transitions leave us with extra time but because this one happened to, it drove the lesson home for me: when we meet each moment with be-here-now-even-when-we-want-to-bolt presence and awareness, we are able to make the best decision for ourselves in that moment.

Nope, not like that.

I have many specific takeaways about what worked for me in this time — finding the right balance between structured activities and go-with-the-flow time; prioritizing deep, authentic human connection; embracing my new ability to follow serendipity and live spontaneously, to name a few. 

But those are my lessons for this transition. Who knows what I’ll need when I become a world-famous author and spend six months on a book tour ;). And who knows what you’ll need during your next transition.

But the only way we can find out is by walking into the change... How? You guessed it! Alive, awake, participatory, and engaged. 

Alive - feeling, breathing, not numbing out.

Awake - staying present, paying attention, taking note.

Participatory - taking action, saying “yes” or “no”, embracing any choices that remain in our hands.

Engaged - being an active player in the unfolding of our reality, rather than a passive bystander.

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When we ground ourselves in reality, especially the uncomfortable parts of reality, we are more equipped to move forward.

By going through a transition with presence, we unlock our potential to evolve and grow.

Because we have both: the ability to adapt to change and the ability to affect change.

During the last 100 days, for example:

I’ve been careful about what I put in my brain. Nothing that makes the losses feel heavier than they already are. Nothing that reduces my sense of agency.

If I’ve realized I’m in a funk, I embrace my “coping dirty methods” — watching Star Wars with a vodka gimlet, for example — because I know that when I’m gentle with myself, I’ll have the motivation to pull myself out of the funk sooner. If I berate myself, trying to “whip myself into shape”, I’m just digging the pit deeper.

I’ve regularly scheduled healthy coping mechanisms even before I fall into a funk. Weekends with Julie, walks with Takis, kettlebells with Kavon. Either it pulls me out of my inner swamp, or I just have a lovely time. 

I’ve consistently reflected on which structures and routines are feeling exciting and expansive for me, and which aren’t. Because I’m not just transitioning out of full-time motherhood and a corporate career. I’m transitioning into something too.

And that unwritten future is where all my power lies.

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Often we act as if our emotions are our greatest weak spot, the chink in our armor that, if we’re not careful, could end us.

Because I’m in New Zealand right now (visiting Connor!), I’m thinking about the Hobbit and Smaug a lot. (He has a scale missing that leads to his defeat.)

But while emotions can hurt — and hurt a LOT — they won’t kill us. Because they aren’t weaknesses, they are guiding lights, letting us know what our hearts long for. 

So if we want to live well, live vibrantly, live a life that makes our hearts burst, we have to let ourselves feel.

We have to let reality sink in, let it rock us, and let ourselves be shaken into claiming the power we have… and releasing resistance to what isn’t in our control.

Alive, awake, participatory, and engaged,

Me and Julie! (See, no bangs!)

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