Periods of transition are tricky. On the one hand, there is excitement and awareness about what's coming next; yet, simultaneously, we can feel ourselves tethered to the past in a way that is disorienting. Things we once cared about suddenly no longer elicit emotional responses—and while that can become liberating, it can also leave us questioning and unsure about our own nature and our ability to switch off our caring at will.

I have long had a fear of being perceived as inconsistent or fickle. My passion runs strong and fierce, which means that it often burns itself out quickly, as I feel drawn to something or somewhere else. I used to feel embarrassed about admitting I had changed my mind about something or that I no longer strongly opposed an idea. Who was I if I was so changeable? How could I be trusted if I could transform my feelings like a change in the weather?

The Buddhist practice of cultivating a sky-like mind helped me shake these worries a bit. This is a method of meditation where you visualize your mind like the vast sky, and as your thoughts float in and out, you see them as clouds drifting across it. Likewise, you see your emotions as the weather, blowing through at varying speeds and affecting your thoughts (clouds) accordingly. The message in the meditation is that even with all the clouds passing through and the weather changing the atmosphere, your mind remains unchanged. The sky is still the sky, and all else simply moves through it, taking up only temporary residence. I find this practice soothing, not only as a person whose overactive mind likes to throw out intrusive thoughts like a pile of dice that have been shaken up and thrown in a Yahtzee game, but also as a reminder that ideas and feelings are meant to move and drift. We cannot expect ourselves not to change because it is our nature to change.

I need this reminder in periods of transition. It is okay for me to be ready to let go of something that I once thought was part of my identity. It is good for me to be ready to shift away from places that no longer serve me or keep me from inhabiting the role and vocation that I know is right for myself. Perhaps I can learn to be more forgiving with myself when I start to judge my perceived inconsistencies. Am I not, in fact, simply expressing my being-ness? Am I not affirming my like-ness with all of nature that knows when it is time to let go, time to compost, time to germinate, time to grow, and time to harvest?

This morning, I am sitting in the quiet of my house, knowing that only a few short minutes from now, my children will wake up and shift the energy of this now quiet place. I see darkness outside of my windows and the flicker of a candle lit next to me as I write. Just like the sun is preparing to dawn and cast light over this corner of the earth, so is my next chapter preparing to emerge from the soil. The trick for me in the waiting is to keep using the present and its circumstances to water the ground beneath my feet and prepare myself not only for what is coming next, but also to make a good and kind exit from what has been a huge part of my life for so long.

We are not inconstant. We are simply alive. Allowing change within ourselves is simply affirming that aliveness. Our job is to be good stewards of that change both within ourselves and for those in our wake. We can be examples of what it means to understand our place in the interdependent web of all things by refusing to rail against change or to plow through it unconsciously. Perhaps taking this perspective can not only help our own hearts but also remind others that they, too, deserve care and futures that will sustain them.

May it be so.

With care,
Rachel