Tiny Buddha

Tag: transition

  • The Great Horned Owl That Kicked Me Out of Burnout

    The Great Horned Owl That Kicked Me Out of Burnout

    “When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” ~Lao Tzu

    I’d known for months that I was burned out.

    The kind of burnout that creeps in quietly—behind your eyes, in your spine, in your calendar. I was volunteering in raptor rescue, monitoring eagle nests as the busy season ramped up, juggling consulting work, supporting adoption placements, writing, creating. I was showing up fully in every space except the one I lived in: my body.

    And yet I refused to let go. I told myself it was just a busy season. That if I could push through, things would calm down. That my exhaustion was noble, temporary, necessary.

    That’s the trap when you build identity around usefulness. You stop listening for limits.

    Raptor rescue had become more than a commitment—it was part of who I was. I loved it. I was invested. I was finally making progress in catching and handling, and every shift brought new confidence. Even after everything I’d learned about rest, boundaries, and overfunctioning, I still couldn’t walk away.

    It took getting kicked in the face by a great horned owl to wake me up. And I mean that literally.

    The Moment It Broke Open

    It was one of my regular volunteer shifts. I’d worked with this particular great horned owl before—had caught her successfully more than once. It felt like business as usual: enter the enclosure, take a breath, begin the catch.

    Except this time, it wasn’t usual. And I wasn’t ready.

    I took my eyes off her for a split second. That’s all it took.

    She flared, leapt, and with perfect precision, delivered a full-force kick to my face before escaping.

    Pain blurred into shock. And then into shame.

    Wounded pride doesn’t begin to describe it. My confidence evaporated. I had spent months building trust, practicing skill, stepping into this work fully. And yet, in one moment, it all felt like it had unraveled.

    I looked at my reflection in the mirror—face aching, spirit heavy—and the truth landed with brutal clarity:

    I’m not on top of my game. And I’m making rookie mistakes. Because I’m too tired to see straight.

    The Grief of Letting Go

    People talk a lot about burnout. But they rarely talk about how hard it is to walk away from something that feels meaningful.

    I wasn’t just physically drained—I was emotionally split. My time in raptor land had changed my life. It gave me resilience I didn’t know I had. It helped me feel grounded during periods of personal chaos. It reminded me that healing is messy and wild and worth it.

    The idea of letting go wasn’t just sad. It felt unbearable.

    And yet, I knew I had to. Not out of failure. Not even out of fear. But because continuing at the pace I was going—without rest, without recalibration—wasn’t sustainable. I was breaking. Slowly. Quietly. And now, visibly.

    Letting go wasn’t graceful. It was layered and raw.

    I cried. I wrestled. I tried to bargain with the truth.

    And when I finally stepped back, I didn’t feel immediate relief. I felt lost.

    The In-Between Is a Sacred Space

    People don’t talk enough about the in-between.

    That space where you’ve left something but haven’t landed in something new. Where you know what isn’t right anymore but aren’t sure what will be right next.

    It’s disorienting. It’s vulnerable. It’s uncomfortable.

    I wasn’t who I used to be—the eager, confident raptor catcher with fresh adrenaline in her chest. But I wasn’t yet someone with clarity about where to go next. My body needed rest. My spirit needed stillness. My heart needed time.

    But my mind? My mind wanted control. It wanted answers. It wanted speed.

    The in-between demanded something softer.

    It didn’t want me to leap. It wanted me to linger. To listen. To relearn what strength looks like when it’s gentle, not forceful.

    It’s the space where grief becomes teacher. Where identity sheds its armor. Where you realize you don’t just miss what you did—you miss who you believed you were when you did it.

    What That Owl Really Taught Me

    Yes, the kick hurt. It disrupted my rhythm. But more than anything, it delivered a message that I had been resisting:

    Even the things that change your life aren’t always meant to stay forever.

    There’s a difference between honoring a season and clinging to it. I wasn’t just volunteering—I was gripping. I was folding myself around an identity that made me feel capable, valuable, essential. I didn’t want to lose it, so I ignored the signs. I numbed out the signals. I kept showing up while my body whispered, “Not this.”

    And then it stopped whispering. It got loud.

    That owl didn’t punish me. She mirrored me.

    And once I heard what she mirrored back—once I stopped resisting the truth—I began to ask what my grip had been keeping me from.

    What Letting Go Made Room For

    Letting go didn’t mean losing everything I loved. It meant loosening my grip long enough for something gentler—and more lasting—to find me.

    I didn’t leave raptors behind. I shifted toward a deeper kind of care—one rooted in conservation, long-term observation, and relational presence. Nest monitoring, habitat awareness, quiet stewardship that still creates impact, but from a place of balance.

    It wasn’t about giving up my place in raptorland. It was about learning to show up differently—without the urgency, without the exhaustion.

    I’m rediscovering who I am in this space now. Someone who listens more. Who stays longer. Who works with the rhythm of the wild, instead of rushing through it.

    Change doesn’t always mean departure. Sometimes it just means choosing a slower path, a softer landing, and a future built on sustainability—in nature and in self.

    If You’re in the In-Between

    If you’re standing in that strange, sacred middle—between what was and what’s next—I see you.

    It’s not weakness to feel unsure. It’s not failure to step back. It’s not quitting to admit you need rest. The in-between is tender. It’s transitional. And it’s necessary.

    Whether it arrives through heartbreak or a literal kick in the face by an owl, change will always come to escort you out of what no longer serves—even when you swear it still does.

    You don’t have to leap before you’re ready. You just have to be willing to pause. To ask:

    What am I gripping that’s already trying to release me?

    What would it mean to let go gently, instead of waiting to be torn?

    Can I honor the season I loved without dragging it forward?

    Your next chapter doesn’t need to arrive with fanfare. It may enter quietly, through silence, through softness, through surrender. But it will arrive.

    And until it does, the pause is not empty. It’s everything.

  • The Growth That Happens When You’re in Between Chapters

    The Growth That Happens When You’re in Between Chapters

    “The most powerful thing you can do right now is be patient while things are unfolding for you.” ~Idil Ahmed

    When one door closes, another one opens, or so the saying goes. From experience, I know that the new door doesn’t always open right away. Often you spend some time in the hallway, the state in between what has been and what will be.

    About two years ago I decided to quit my job. While I was in the process of making big decisions, I decided to give up my apartment and go abroad for a period. I didn’t have a super thought-out new plan, but I just felt like it was time to move on.

    When my loved ones expressed their doubts about my plans, I waved them away, certain I would figure it out. And to be honest, I kind of expected the new plan to just happen to me as soon as I made the decision.

    For most of my life, the phases between jobs, relationships, and living spaces followed each other neatly. I fully expected this time to be no different.

    You can imagine my surprise when this time the new phase didn’t start immediately. Answers, opportunities, and big synchronicities didn’t just fall at my feet. What I got instead was a lot of confusion and self-doubt.

    In the middle of all this, my long-term relationship ended, which added another element of uncertainty to my life. I was in the hallway, and it felt like I was waiting for the door to appear.

    One way or another, most of us spend time in the hallway during our lifetime. The hallway is that phase between two chapters of life when nothing seems to happen. This in-between phase can take many shapes and forms.

    Sometimes you end up there by choice, like when you take a sabbatical or choose to spend some time focused on yourself. Other times the decision is made for you: perhaps your physical or mental health forces you to take a pause. Maybe you are let go from your job, your business closes, or your partner chooses to end your relationship.

    There is also the space between where we think of something we want to bring into our lives—anything from a business to parenthood—and where it comes into fruition. That period can also feel like an in-between phase, where we are not yet where we want to be, but we are very focused on getting there.

    We want to be there and forget to enjoy that we are now here. Rather than enjoying the journey and all the little steps along the way, we focus on where we feel like we should be.

    Most of us don’t want to spend time in the in-between. It can be a highly uncomfortable time, as there is a lot of uncertainty involved.

    It can feel like being stranded in the middle of the desert: Everything looks the same, and nothing orients us in any direction. We don’t know how long the period will be or where we will go next. It can make us doubt everything we thought we knew and believed in, and that can be unsettling.

    There are different strategies to take in the in-between phase. I know, because I have tried all of them, with mixed results.

    You may choose to frantically knock on all doors until one of them opens. The problem with this strategy is that, while understandable, this is a fear-based approach. Rather than deciding from a deep sense of trust in yourself and life, you become attached to the door that opens.

    There’s also the option of lying on the floor and waiting for the door to present itself. While that works at times, it is not the most empowering strategy. It is also a slippery slope into a bit of a victim mentality when things take longer than you expect.

    And then there’s the option to see this period as an opportunity. A chance to get to know yourself better and become familiar with your own fears and doubts, hopes, and longings. If you let it, this phase can bring you closer to yourself and allow you to move forward in a more authentic, aligned way.

    It took me a little longer than I care to admit to move from strategy one and two into the third, but when I finally did, these were some of the lessons I learned.

    1. When you lose something that feels essential to your self-worth, you learn who you are without that part.

    Most of us feel quite attached to certain parts of our identity, whether it is our job, relationship, or an idea we have about ourselves. The more we attach our self-worth to a door that has been closed, the more uncomfortable this phase will feel. And the more we probably need this time.

    The in-between phase gives you a chance to see who you are without all the things you thought you were. In that process, you are invited to recognize that your worth is so much more than those identities.

    I had always seen myself as someone who followed her intuition and was courageous enough to follow her own path. In my relationships, I had taken on the role of encouraging others to do the same. When I felt neither certain nor courageous, I learned that I was still a caring friend and family member. Opening up about my feelings made other people feel safe about sharing their deeper feelings as well.

    No one is meant to take on one role; we are all multifaceted beings, and all of our parts are valuable.

    2. A period of uncertainty gives you the chance to become more resilient to fear.

    At times, your biggest fears come true in this in-between phase. And that is truly frightening. But it’s also a great opportunity. When what you deeply fear is happening, you have a chance to integrate that fear so that you are no longer so controlled by it in your day-to-day life.

    It gives you a chance to process it rather than just simply hoping it never happens. And with that, it can give you great freedom. If this happens, and you can handle it, then perhaps you are capable of more than you thought.

    When I was in limbo, I realized I had this deep fear that my life wouldn’t really go anywhere, and that I would never be able to live up to my potential. It made me feel deeply afraid of failure and rejection, as I felt that these experiences would confirm my core fear.

    In the process of creating a new path, I faced my share of failure and rejection. Initially, the feelings that came up would overwhelm me, and I would want to give up trying. But gradually, as I learned to process these feelings, I found a deeper sense of safety within.

    As uncomfortable emotions come up, learn to feel them in your body. Become familiar with the sensations and just breathe. Implement tools to calm your nervous system—like deep breathing or listening to calming music—so that you can regulate yourself back to safety.

    The more comfortable you become with uncomfortable emotions, the more resilient you become to them. You then no longer have to avoid the things you fear, which could potentially bring you great happiness.

    3. An in-between period is a chance to move forward in a different way.

    There is usually a paved path in relationships, career paths, and life in general, with a logical next step to take. So often in life we take that next logical step, rather than reflect on whether that aligns with our deepest longings.

    It is challenging to go off that paved path and into the wilderness, but it is greatly rewarding as well. An in-between period forces you to make a conscious choice: Do you want to keep going as you did before, or are there changes you would like to make moving forward?

    As you learn to find safety in the uncertainty and let go of your attachments to things that weren’t quite right for you, you open space to move forward differently. With a newfound trust in your resilience and a deeper knowledge of yourself, it becomes much easier to make decisions that are deeply aligned with you.

    4. Change is often gradual and can only be seen clearly in hindsight.

    There are moments that propel you into a new stage of life from one moment to the next. But often, there is not one big earth-shattering moment that changes everything. The hit-by-lightning breakthrough moment where you suddenly know exactly what to do does not always come.

    Rather, change is often a gradual process that you can only fully see when you look back on it. It is a combination of lots of little steps and lessons and a gradual integration of the emotions that the change brings up. When you fully embrace that, it is powerful.

    It means that you don’t have to dig for answers or figure everything out at once but learn to trust that the things you do every day matter. Life has natural rhythms and seasons, just like nature does. Some seasons are big and exciting, while others are slower paced.

    Looking back now, I can see that I learned to gradually replace my fear-based choices with options that felt more aligned. It started with seemingly small things, like my morning routine and the recipes I cooked, and evolved into starting my own business and deciding to move closer to the ocean. In the stillness, I learned to sit with my feelings and take tiny steps towards sustainable change.

    And so perhaps, as we move toward the door that will inevitably show up at some point, we notice that the hallway isn’t just a space between the two doors. It is a room all by itself, a necessary and fruitful phase of life. We learn that we are never in-between, as we are always growing, evolving, and simply living.

  • Liminal Space: Where Painful Endings Can Become New Beginnings

    Liminal Space: Where Painful Endings Can Become New Beginnings

    “New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” ~Lao Tzu

    Life has a way of pushing us into the unknown, often through experiences that initially seem devastating. These moments of profound loss and confusion, however, can lead to transformative new beginnings. My journey is a testament to this truth, and I want to share some pivotal experiences that illustrate how painful endings can become gateways to new paths.

    Years ago, Steve Jobs gave a commencement speech at Stanford University, where he shared three stories from his life, highlighting how it’s only through looking back that we can connect the dots. Inspired by his speech, I want to share three stories from my life, showing how new beginnings have become apparent as I stepped into the liminal space, embraced the unknown, and accepted endings.

    Liminal spaces are those in-between moments when one phase of life ends, and the next has not yet begun. These are periods of uncertainty and discomfort, but they are also filled with potential for profound transformation. It’s in these spaces that we can let go of the past and open ourselves to new possibilities, even if the transition feels unsettling.

    From Failure to Triumph in Music Technology

    As a teenager, I was deeply passionate about music technology. I received good feedback from my teachers and was considered one of the top students in my class. My predicted grades were excellent, and I felt confident about my future in this field.

    However, when the AS (advanced) level results came in, I was devastated to see a U in music technology. My teachers had not adequately prepared us for the curriculum, leading to unexpectedly low grades across the board.

    This setback forced me to reconsider my future plans. It was a crushing blow; all my dreams seemed to crumble in an instant. The frustration of feeling let down by my teachers, combined with my own sense of failure, was overwhelming.

    I vividly remember sitting in my room, staring at the results, feeling a mix of anger and despair. The thought of giving up on my passion crossed my mind more than once.

    I remember feeling so lost. I was at my friend Mike’s house, chatting with him and his girlfriend, trying to figure out my next steps. I had given up on music technology and was looking at other courses at the local college—anything to get a qualification worth something.

    I considered health and social care, thinking, “I’m quite good with people; maybe I could do something like that.” But it wasn’t what I wanted to do—it was just a desperate attempt to find something, anything, that felt achievable. I was at such a low point, feeling completely devastated.

    Mike sat me down and reminded me of my strengths. He said, “Gord, you’re one of the best sound engineers I know. You run the production at our church better than anyone else. You can’t give up on this.”

    His words hit me hard. I had been running sound at our church and playing in one of the worship bands, alternating between playing drums and managing the sound. Mike’s belief in me reignited a spark of hope.

    Encouraged by Mike’s words, I decided not to give up on my dreams. Instead, I enrolled in a music technology course at a local college. The difference was striking—the course was far more comprehensive and practical.

    Unlike the largely theory-based classes in school, where the teacher read from a textbook and we copied answers, this course was hands-on. We used the equipment, practically making music, running shows, and recording albums.

    Being able to tangibly use a reverb unit or a compressor, rather than just listening to the same audio file and being told what it sounded like, provided immense benefit to my learning. The practical experience with up-to-date equipment was a game-changer.

    I thrived in this new environment, pouring my heart and soul into my studies. After two years, I graduated with a triple distinction, equivalent to three A’s at the A level. This achievement was a direct result of the painful ending of my initial school experience, which pushed me toward a more suitable and enriching path.

    Reflecting on this journey, I am reminded that, at the time, the failure felt like the end of the world. But looking back, it was the catalyst that pushed me to where I needed to be. It’s often in these moments of despair that we find our true path.

    A Crisis of Faith and a Spiritual Awakening

    Five years later, I found myself deeply entrenched in the evangelical Christian church. My journey began with a strong interest in production, which led me to volunteer in the production team at a much bigger church. My skills in sound engineering grew, and I started getting freelance work managing sound at events.

    This exposure led a pastor to suggest I join their leadership course—a gap year in preaching and pastoral leadership. During this gap year, I picked up numerous skills in leading groups, mentoring, coaching, and pastoring people. I also delved deeply into theology, finally having the resources to explore all the questions I had been harboring.

    After completing the leadership course, I began working for the church, doing marketing for one of their programs. I introduced new initiatives and received positive feedback from my managers.

    Despite the positive feedback and new initiatives I’d introduced, during my probation meeting after six months, my line manager’s manager told me I had not met my targets. This came as a shock because I knew it wasn’t true, which my line manager (who was shocked at the decision) privately confirmed. It coincided with a period when the church hadn’t met its financial goals from a recent giving service. I strongly suspect I was let go due to budget constraints, but they couldn’t admit that, so they blamed my performance.

    Despite being let go, I took on a leadership position, pastoring a graduate connect group of about forty people, and continued freelancing in production for the church. I was also in the discernment process for becoming a vicar—a two-year journey I had started at the beginning of my gap year. This process involved deep reflection, guidance from mentors, and assessments to determine my suitability for ordained ministry.

    During a weekend retreat, while leading a worship session, the weight of my doubts and questions came crashing down on me. I found myself on my knees, desperately seeking divine guidance. In that moment of vulnerability, I had a profound realization.

    I had confined my understanding of the divine to the walls of the church, limiting my spiritual growth. As I looked around, it felt as though my faith was in ruins, but beyond those ruins, I saw a beautiful expanse of possibility.

    This epiphany led me to leave the church and embark on a new spiritual journey. I moved to a different city, took a job in the charity sector, and began exploring different spiritual practices. I started meditating, reading about various spiritual traditions, and connecting with nature in a way I never had before.

    This painful ending of my conventional faith was the gateway to a broader and more fulfilling spiritual path. I discovered a spirituality that was personal, expansive, and deeply resonant with who I was becoming.

    Leaving the church was one of the hardest decisions I ever made. It felt like I was betraying a part of myself and my community. But in that liminal space, I found a new understanding of the divine that was more inclusive and expansive. This taught me that faith is not about rigid adherence to doctrines but about a personal and evolving relationship with the divine.

    Rediscovering Myself During the Pandemic

    Two years ago, during the lockdown, I was working for a large technology company in one of their shops. It was a well-paying job, and I excelled at it.

    This was my dream job since I was a kid, and it provided security and stability. However, the lockdown provided an unexpected opportunity to reconnect with my spirituality.

    Before the pandemic, I attended a meditation retreat in Valencia. Seeking to make meditation a more integral part of my life, I spent time at a spiritual center in the mountains, learning transcendental meditation, Tai Chi, and yoga. I also learned to use a pendulum to connect with my intuition, which became an immensely helpful practice.

    During the pandemic, between the first and second lockdowns, I was at a friend’s house, and they offered to give me a tarot reading. I’d always been taught to avoid tarot due to its links to the occult and predicting the future, which didn’t interest me, but my friend explained over some libations that it could be used to understand the present and gain insights into current situations. Reassured and feeling confidently inebriated, I accepted.

    After the reading, they asked if I would give them one in return. I agreed, and to my surprise, they found my reading insightful, noting that I provided more depth than the guidebook interpretations. Encouraged, they gifted me the tarot deck, and I began practicing earnestly.

    When the second lockdown began, I found myself with ample free time. I practiced tarot readings tirelessly, offering free readings on social media and dating profiles. The response was overwhelming, and I conducted hundreds of readings for strangers, honing my skills, deepening my connection to the practice, and helping people find clarity in the here and now.

    However, as I returned to work, my mental health began to deteriorate. The demands of the job, combined with the unresolved issues I had been exploring, became too much to bear. I experienced a severe mental health breakdown and was signed off sick.

    During this time, I pursued an autism diagnosis, which brought a new level of understanding and acceptance into my life. The diagnosis was a turning point; it explained so much about my experiences and struggles, and it opened up new ways to approach my life and work.

    While I was signed off, my sister and I went to a Reiki session, and she mentioned my tarot reading skills to the practitioner. This led to an invitation to participate in a Mind Body Spirit event organized by someone the Reiki practitioner knew. This opportunity sparked the idea of turning my passion into a profession.

    I realized that I could help others with the insights and guidance that tarot provided. Starting my own business has been challenging and rewarding, offering me job satisfaction and the flexibility to manage my autism. I might not be making as much money as I did in my previous job, but the fulfillment and alignment with my true self are priceless.

    This experience underscored the importance of listening to one’s inner voice and having the courage to pursue a path that aligns with one’s true self. It also highlighted that sometimes external circumstances, like a global pandemic, can force us into introspection and significant life changes.

    Embracing the Liminal Space

    These experiences taught me the value of the liminal space—the in-between moments when one phase of life ends and the next has not yet begun. It’s a space filled with uncertainty and discomfort, but also with the potential for profound transformation.

    When we fail our exams, question our faith, or face a mental health crisis, we are thrust into this liminal space. It’s only by letting go of what was and embracing the unknown that we can see new paths and opportunities. These transitions, though painful, are necessary for growth and new beginnings.

    In each of these moments, I felt lost and unsure. But it was in these depths that I discovered new aspects of myself and new directions for my life. It’s like Indiana Jones taking a leap of faith into the unknown—the path only becomes visible once we commit to moving forward.

    Reflecting on these experiences, I’m reminded of Steve Jobs’ Stanford commencement speech. He said, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards.”

    This couldn’t be truer for my life. At the time, these failures and challenges felt like the end of the world. But looking back, they were the catalysts that pushed me to where I needed to be.

    Each phase of my journey, from music technology to church leadership to personal spiritual growth, has contributed invaluable skills and insights. Although I didn’t become a sound engineer or a vicar, the skills I developed continue to shape my current work and life.

    The guidance, empathy, and leadership techniques I honed are invaluable in my tarot practice. Similarly, my sound engineering skills are utilized in creating recorded readings, guided meditation sessions, and potentially a podcast.

    All these experiences, which seemed devastating at the time, are the reason I’m here today, doing what I love. I’m able to help people, work for myself, set my own boundaries, and create a fulfilling life. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been thrust into the liminal space.

    So, when life pushes you into the liminal space, embrace it. Let go of the past and open yourself up to the possibilities that lie ahead. New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings, and it’s in these moments of transition that we find our true path.

  • Handling Lifequakes: How to Navigate the Storms of Change

    Handling Lifequakes: How to Navigate the Storms of Change

    “How you revise, rethink, and rewrite your personal narrative as things change, lurch, or go wrong in your life matters a great deal.”  ~Bruce Feiler

    It’s happened to all of us.

    Just when life is going smoothly, a big, scary event comes along that threatens to ruin everything.

    A frightening diagnosis, a relationship breakup, the death of a loved one, a job loss, or the COVID-19 pandemic.

    Your life gets turned upside down when you least expect it.

    I don’t know about you, but my life has been full of significant life changes over the last ten years: my husband’s retirement and chronic lymphocytic leukemia diagnosis within a month of each other, the death of a beloved old pet, and my husband’s six months of chemotherapy. This was followed by him breaking his back plus having heart surgery only a few months later.

    After that, we spent a year going through a highly stressful move. And then the pandemic started. Earlier this year, we had to move my parents into assisted living after Mom broke her hip and Dad had to stop driving.

    I’ve come to the realization that learning to master these types of daunting challenges may be the most crucial skill we need, regardless of our age.

    So I’m always on the lookout for helpful advice.

    Navigating Lifequakes

    Bestselling author Bruce Feiler spent five years talking to people about the most significant transitions of their lives. Spurred on by a series of personal crises, he traveled the country, gathering the life stories of hundreds of Americans from every state.

    He then spent a year combing through those stories, unearthing patterns and insights that can help us all handle challenging times more effectively. His efforts culminated in his excellent book Life Is in the Transitions: Mastering Change at Any Age.

    Feiler learned that massive life disruptions, what he calls lifequakes, strike us at the core of our being. We feel scared, overwhelmed, and stuck, leading to a “meaning crisis” (a feeling of meaninglessness). But a transition is what helps us break free and move forward.

    A lifequake can come in different forms—a choice we make, like leaving a bad marriage or starting a new venture, or something that happens beyond our control, such as losing a job or facing illness.

    Regardless of how it comes about, the key is that the transition itself must be voluntary. We must work to turn our fear and anxiety into something positive and life-affirming.

    “As long as we all have to go through these tumultuous periods; as long as we have to experience all this stress and distress, heartrending and heart-mending; as long as we have to readjust our personal narratives; why do we insist on talking about these periods as something dire and defeating? As long as life is going to be full of plot twists, why not spend more time learning to master them?”

    Based on Feiler’s research, here are five tips, with examples from my own life, to make the transitions you experience go more smoothly.

    Use Your Transition Superpower and Get Help with Your Kryptonite

    Feeling all over the place or stuck in one spot during significant changes is normal. But Feiler discovered there’s actually some order to these times.

    Transitions can be broken down into three phases. There’s the long goodbye, where you leave the past behind. There’s the messy middle, where you stumble toward a fresh identity. And there’s the new beginning, where you embrace your new way of being.

    But these phases don’t always happen in a straight line, and the order is different for everyone. Also, they rarely begin and end in a clean way. We go in and out of them in highly unique patterns. And it’s easy to get stuck in one phase for a long time.

    Each person has their own strength in one phase (their transition superpower) and may struggle with another (their transition kryptonite).

    For example, I’ve noticed that my husband’s superpower is the messy middle of things.

    He has trouble with goodbyes and letting go of the past. But when he finally does, he demonstrates tremendous patience and perseverance in dealing with the ongoing chaos of the messy middle.

    For instance, when his leukemia flares up every few years, it requires more frequent visits to the oncologist and treatment for as long as it takes to get back to the desired state of remission. I think he handles the uncertainty and discomfort of this relatively well.

    My husband’s superpower is my kryptonite. The messy middle of things always feels never-ending and draining to me. I am frequently impatient and must work hard to keep my energy up.

    Over time, we’ve learned how to help each other through transitions. I give him extra support with his goodbyes, and he’s a caring cheerleader through my messy middles.

    Accept and Balance Your Emotions

    Feiler asked everyone he interviewed about the most potent emotions they struggled with during their transitions. Fear was the top emotion, with 27% of people feeling that one the most. Sadness and shame were also common reactions.

    People dealt with these emotions in different ways. Some wrote down their feelings, while others threw themselves into new tasks to keep busy.

    But nearly eight out of ten people turned to rituals to cope. They sang, danced, hugged, got tattoos, and skydived. They changed their names and went to sweat lodges.

    These rituals are super effective, especially during the long goodbye phase. They serve as statements to ourselves and others that we’ve gone through a change and are ready for whatever comes next.

    Supporting my elderly parents through their decline and suffering this year has been a new life stage for me. In many ways, the experience reminds me of the demands of parenting. Selflessness, on-the-spot problem-solving, patience, and resilience—all constant requirements.

    And the emotions have been intense. One of the rituals I use is my early-morning journaling practice. Over the last several months, writing my truth about this has helped me reach a state of acceptance, reducing my fear and sadness.

    Let Go of Something

    When we reach the messy middle, we start getting rid of things—like old ways of thinking, bad habits, false beliefs, and even dreams that no longer suit us. It’s like animals shedding their outer layer to grow bigger or prepare for their next life stage.

    When Loretta Parham, a librarian from Atlanta, lost her daughter in a car accident and took on the responsibility of raising her granddaughters, she had to let go of just indulging them and become more of a disciplinarian.

    When I was in the middle of that season of one health scare after another with my husband—it went on for sixteen months—I had to let go of how he used to be.

    He had been hale and hearty, “large and in charge.” Making our life work had been a 50/50 partnership, but he only had maybe 10% to give, so I had to step up and provide 90%.

    This shedding process allows us to do away with what no longer serves us and make space for a new reality.

    Do Something Creative

    Many people Feiler talked to during his interviews found comfort in being creative during times of change. They turned to dancing, cooking, painting, writing poems, thank-you notes, and diary entries.

    When faced with chaos, their response was to create something meaningful.

    After leaving her husband, Khaliqa Baqi set up a sewing room in her home and “started making beautiful creations with fabric.”

    Gayla Paschall started building hand-painted birdhouses after getting caught up in a faculty scandal at Emory and losing her research position. Soon, she was selling her creations at a gallery.

    While accompanying my husband to the cancer center for chemotherapy years ago, I saw the nurses bring out warm, hand-made throw blankets for the patients who were feeling cold. The nurses said the patients loved them and they could always use more.

    So I dusted off my crochet skills and made throws to donate to the center. I enjoy the meditative nature of crocheting and love giving my creations away. Other creative practices that help me through chaotic times are coloring mandalas and nature photography.

    This desire for renewal through creativity has been a part of humanity since the beginning of time. It’s as if we instinctively know we can find a fresh start by creating something new.

    Compose a Fresh Story

    Going through a life transition is like writing a new chapter in our story. We can find meaning in our lifequake and the resulting changes we go through.

    Whether our experience was positive or not, we can choose to end the story with positivity and hope. One of my favorite teachers, author Martha Beck, calls this writing into light.

    I now make sense of lifequakes by viewing them as spiritual practice and asking, “What can I learn from this?”

    We have the power to shape the stories of our transitions. Feiler says that instead of seeing them as tough times we must struggle through, we should view them as healing periods.

    They give us a chance to mend the frightening parts of our lives, helping us move forward in renewal and growth.

    ——

    We all face those moments when our world turns upside down and the road ahead seems uncertain. But it’s during these very times that we discover our inner strength, resilience, and creativity.

    We can embrace change as a chance to rewrite our story, shed what no longer serves us, and dream a new dream.

    May we all have peace of heart as we go.

  • 4 Things I Needed to Accept When I Was in Transition and Felt Insecure

    4 Things I Needed to Accept When I Was in Transition and Felt Insecure

    “Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.”-  Robert Tew

    I want you to picture this. You are standing on a mountain, and in front of you is a taller mountain with a prettier view. Between the mountains is 100,000 foot plunge to the bottom, filled with jagged rocks. You know that you need to make it to that other mountain and that the only way for you to do so is to jump—but for some reason, you cannot move.

    This is what transition feels like, especially when you have to make huge leaps into new and unexplored territories.

    Recently, I found myself in this very position, paralyzed with fear. All I could think about was how I was going to go from being a graduate student to being a real adult, working and living in the real world.

    To be completely honest, I wasn’t even thinking—I was worrying and putting mounds of pressure on myself to make a move, to act. What’s worse is that in times of transition it seems as though you are being truly tested. 

    Personally, the comfort cocoon I created for myself over my college years unraveled. My friends graduated and left to start their lives. All of a sudden, what used to be continuous social outings changed into monthly check-ins.

    I was confused as to how I got here. I would look around, hoping that someone would show up and be a source of entertainment. That never happened and I found myself alone.

    At first, I didn’t take this as a gift but as a punishment. I wanted to be distracted because if I was, then I wouldn’t have to think about what was coming next. I wouldn’t have to face my greatest fear of being by myself. Luckily, the universe had other plans.

    When I first started being alone, my insecurities and doubts came rushing in to keep me company. I was constantly telling myself that I was not worthy, that I was not enough, and that I was not strong enough to make this transition. I doubted my capabilities and everything I’d earned up until that point.

    When I would interview for jobs, I’d be interviewing out of fear. I thought the people on the other side of the phone were better than me because they achieved what, at the time, I thought I could not.

    I compared myself to others who seemed further along on their life path. I became jealous and angry that I wasn’t as far along as them. I resented myself because I believed I had no life experience. 

    Transition scrambles your life up, both externally and internally. I thought I’d resolved my issue of being alone, yet here I was, mistaking aloneness for loneliness. I thought I was confident and sure about myself, yet here I was, questioning the very foundation I’d built. I slammed into my own mental brick wall and then became idle in moving toward the life I desired.

    One day, as I was sitting by my space heater drinking hot chocolate, I thought about what was holding me back—what I didn’t want to admit myself. After doing some self-reflection, I realized there were several things I needed to accept. They are as follows:

    1. I was scared.

    I wasn’t sure and I am still not sure if what I am jumping to is safe or promising. It’s the unknown, but in admitting to myself that I was terrified, I immediately felt lighter because I was no longer wasting time convincing myself that I was not fearful.

    2. I don’t have everything figured out, and that’s okay.

    I had to tell myself that transitions don’t happen overnight; they happen over days, months, even years. I have plenty of time to discover, to explore, to create, and to decide what my transition will be and how I will get there.

    3. I was in the in-between.

    In the in-between, you are neither here nor there. You are just in the middle. Think of it as though you are hovering in the space between those two mountains. I used to hate this space, because I wasn’t in control. Yet, in all honestly, you are never really in control. In this space, you have to trust—trust yourself, trust the universe.

    The beautiful part about the in-between is that it gives you time to make a plan and to execute it. Taking small steps every day proved to me that I was actively moving toward my desired mountain. I designed a plan that was manageable so I wouldn’t become immobilized again. It made the tasks ahead less daunting.

    4. My thoughts could be my prison or my wings.

    I struggle with this daily and I “fail” at it a lot. It’s hard to erase negative thinking habits and replace them with positive ones. Then, if you add the weight of your insecurities and doubts, it seems like an impossible feat.

    What has helped me the most is taking each moment as it comes. In one moment, I can be completely fine. In the next moment, I can be upset about why I am not this or that, what I look like, what I feel like, why I am wrong or right, etc. In those difficult moments, I remind myself to breathe.

    I breathe through my loud judgmental voice, and I acknowledge her presence in my head. I then tell myself that no matter what the circumstances, I am loved, I am protected, and I am safe. Sometimes this works and other times it doesn’t. The point is that I don’t have a clear-cut solution to this issue; I take it day by day.

    When it comes to appreciating my aloneness, I have gotten into the habit of not inviting anyone over when I am feeling antsy or I feel like I need company to be okay with myself. I sit with that discomfort, and make myself do an activity I can absorb myself in, like coloring, playing Solitaire, or reading. In doing this, I actually spend time with myself, by myself, for myself.

    Everyone’s transition isn’t going to look the same, and it isn’t going to bring about the same issues or ideas. Regardless of what yours looks like, remember that change is the only constant and that transition is a part of change. We must embrace our transition even if it is difficult.

    In doing so we face ourselves and we acknowledge the areas we need to grow in, the areas where we are strong in, and the areas we didn’t even know existed. We help heal ourselves into wholeness so when we do finally decide to make that jump, we are not scared about whether we are going to reach the other side.

  • A Reason to Feel Less Anxious During Times of Transition

    A Reason to Feel Less Anxious During Times of Transition

    Woman with Butterfly

    “How ironic that the difficult times we fear might ruin us are the very ones that can break us open and help us blossom into who we were meant to be.” ~Elizabeth Lesser

    This past May I graduated from college, where I majored in Environmental Science. I chose this subject for one simple reason: I love learning how the world works.

    There are always strong connections to be made between humans and other species. Every time I hear a unique, astonishing fact about other animals, I feel more connected to the world around us rather than more separate.

    My latest bewildering discovery came from the radio.

    I was driving in my car, heading to the grocery store but mostly in need of some fresh air. I had spent the day inside, applying to jobs and pondering the next step of my life. Riding along, listening to the radio, provided a source of calm.

    The segment was on NPR’s RadioLab and the subject was “black boxes.”

    On NPR’s website, the hosts describe black boxes as: “those peculiar spaces where it’s clear what’s going in, we know what’s coming out, but what happens in-between is a mystery.”

    The hosts announced their first topic of discussion: a caterpillar’s transformation to butterfly.

    The black box, in this case, is the chrysalis within which the caterpillar’s body changes into a butterfly. We know the caterpillar and we know the butterfly, but many of us do not know what happens inside the cocoon.

    I was hooked. Sitting in my car, I had parked but couldn’t turn off the radio.

    I wanted to hear what exactly goes on in the chrysalis. What does it look like inside this hidden chamber? Is it what I’d imagine?

    I predicted that within the cocoon, caterpillar cells begin to replicate on either side of the body in a symmetrical pattern. Maybe the wings curl around the body as they grow.

    I was wrong.

    If you open a chrysalis about a week after its conception, there is no discernible caterpillar. Within the chrysalis, the caterpillar actually digests itself. The enzymes released by this process create a sort of goo in place of the caterpillar.

    The creep-factor of this for me was akin to watching Silence of the Lambs. The story was as perturbing as it was captivating.

    I believe what fascinates me most about the caterpillar’s transition into butterfly or moth is that the original wormy fellow neither stays fully intact nor completely disappears. The “goo” is actually a collection of cells that replicate where they need to.

    The butterfly’s organs, such as the antennae, the wings, and legs, all develop through the constant division and replication of cells that collect from caterpillar goo. Even more interesting, some species of moth have been shown to retain some memory of their caterpillar lives. The cells, therefore, hold qualities of their original character.

    The metamorphic process is evolutionary, and it is encoded in the caterpillar’s DNA.

    I do not believe that the small creature makes a conscious choice to turn himself into goo. Rather, he does so by default just as his ancestors have been doing for millions of years. I know this logically. And yet, there is something abstractly beautiful about the concept.

    I love that the caterpillar trusts it will become a butterfly. It is willing to break itself down for a short period of time, knowing that the result of its self-destruction will be as grand and sensational as a butterfly or moth.

    What fearlessness required, what self-confidence! The caterpillar eats and eats for days, plumping itself up for the process of its own obliteration. That takes some serious bravery and commitment.

    Last month, I put on a graduation cap and gown, and I, along with millions of other graduates, took a leap from the comfortable role of student to something as yet undefined.

    One moment, I could define myself by my courses, my friends, and my ability to navigate campus. The next moment, it became a lot harder to define myself, as my entire environment changed.

    I have been wondering a lot lately about where I’m headed next. Is there any clear-cut path or formula?

    Looking on Instagram and Facebook it seems that everyone is confident in their post-graduation choices, whatever they may be.

    I feel that I am somewhere in between, applying for jobs but still unaware of my first step, and uncertain of the specifics of my future.

    For example, where do I want to live? What types of people do I want to surround myself with? Where do I want to work? More specifically, what type of work will fulfill me?

    The questions are normal, even necessary. But hearing about caterpillars, I realized something important about how I’ve been navigating my transition.

    I, along with many of my friends, have been envisioning my life thus far as having two separate stages: one during college and one after.

    The first stage we view as preparation. We feed ourselves with the tools necessary to grow, just as the caterpillar does. After college, we expect to become a butterfly. On top of this, we expect the transition to occur rapidly and effortlessly.

    Before I graduated, I had a lot of anxiety about remaining active and engaged after graduation. Looking back, I realize I was desperately scared that I’d lose myself—that the transition would seize the “me” I knew and morph me into some worse version. But what if these fears ended up being more dangerous to my growth than the transition itself?

    When I view this period of time as my black box, instead of feeling anxious that I will lose myself, I feel excited by the opportunity to rebuild.

    I trust that whatever is contained within the black box, is still “me.” So what if it gets a little gooey? Times of transition are meant to be gooey; we are meant to settle into ambiguity before we are able to achieve clarity.

    This mentality has helped me to take positive action toward starting on my new path.

    This doesn’t mean it’s easy. My identity is undergoing a breakdown of boundaries. It can be scary.

    I do fear on some level that, like the caterpillar turning to goo, I will lose everything that defined me, other than DNA, of course. But however scary, it can be more fruitful to spend time in the black box than to rush the process of becoming a butterfly.

    During a time of transition, it’s important to give yourself space and time to break yourself down and settle into the uncertainty of the moment, to take a pause before stepping forward.

    Maybe the caterpillar has it right. Before becoming a butterfly, the caterpillar loses all structural integrity; he does not fight to keep his body as it was. Nor does he entirely disappear.

    Instead, he changes form, while maintaining essential parts of his former identity. In the end, he builds himself back up as a better version of himself, this time graced with a pair of wings, and poised for flight.

    I am confident that after time in the black box, I will emerge more capable, more mindful, and more me.

    If you are also in a black box, having just completed one phase while preparing for another, know that nature provides these spaces for a reason.

    These periods of transition, with all of their anxiety and ambiguity, are critical to our growth. There are times in our lives when the best place to be is inside the black box.

    Woman with butterfly image via Shutterstock

  • How to Find Peace and Balance When Dealing with Change

    How to Find Peace and Balance When Dealing with Change

    “Change is the only constant.” ~Heraclitus

    Have you ever noticed how many transitions we go through all day?

    The transition from waking up to getting out of bed, from PJs (or au natural) to clothes, from red light to green light, from inhale to exhale. Every waking moment is a transition.

    Why, then, are we, as humans, so uncomfortable with change?

    We want everything to stay the same, but at the same time, crave variety. We grasp so tightly to how we think things should be (did she not hear that I wanted extra foam on my latte?) and, simultaneously, admire and want innovation.

    We are walking transitions. We chase the next thing, trying to fill this underlying void of “not enough.” We so desperately grasp at everything to stay the same, and when change comes, we are scared.

    Fear exists with change. When we can accept that fear is there, though, we can also ask at the same time “What do I have to do to get to where I need to be? How do I create the life I want?”

    If change is the only thing we can count on as guaranteed, the question presents itself: How can we use it to our advantage to grow, transform, and evolve?

    One major lesson I’ve learned through the experience of going from the severe imbalance of Stage IV cancer at age twenty-nine, to feeling an ongoing (yet fluid) state of balance, not only in body but also mind and spirit, is that taking care of ourselves in the midst of change is as crucial to our health as breathing.

    Cancer, or any other life-threatening illness, leaves its survivors different. The entire experience is life-altering change and an extraordinary opportunity to find healing.

    While there is not a cure for every disease out there, everyone can find healing. Whether survivor or not, we can nurture ourselves through any change at the soul level by asking the following five questions.

    1. What am I feeding the mind?

    By becoming aware of what we tell our body, and choosing nourishing thoughts and food and granting it stillness, we can sustain any change that may arise. And then, truly, whatever arises in life becomes the right material for our growth and the growth of those around us, as Marcus Aurelius said.

    2. How can I find balance in every part of my life?

    When I would have a jam-packed go-go-go day as a headhunter in the corporate world, my transition strategy to “calm down and balance out” was to do a fast-paced sweaty vinyasa class.

    Yet, I’d get out of yoga and someone would cut me off and I’d blow up, yell something, and (maybe) flip the bird! Where is the zen in that?!

    I did not realize at that point in my life that the antidote to the stress of my day job would’ve been a balanced yoga flow or, even a slower, gentle yin class. Balancing out our lives in each area is necessary.

    3. Am I following my desires?

    This is an area that our souls long for, but most of us experience resistance. The ego, driven to survive, is always telling us that what we truly want is not something we should go after for whatever reason, usually the money. But the money is not the core reason. When we really want something, we find ways to get it.

    Danielle LaPorte says that we’re not chasing a goal, we’re chasing a feeling we think the goal will give us. In knowing this, we can get in touch with our core desired feelings. I thought for so long that the anxiety is what drove me to get what I want. But our core desired feelings are our true navigator and anxiety is just a “witless liar,” as Martha Beck says.

    4. Are the people I am surrounded by bringing me light?

    Being around people who uplift and support us makes us uplifting and supporting.

    When I was going through my cancer healing program, I had only about three hours where I had energy to engage with people. The rest of the time, I would be extremely fatigued and exhausted.

    I found that when I was around others who were negative or complained, the three hour block of energy turned into one. It literally sucked the vitality and life out of me, making a life-altering situation that much more difficult. Choosing to surround ourselves with life-giving, uplifting people feeds and heals the soul.

    5. Do I spend time every day in stillness?

    I would skip stillness, thinking, I’ll just pray as I send emails. (Yes, I was this crazy). Then I would get so burnt out, sick of working, and indulge in junk food and alcohol to make myself feel better.

    These days, when I feel the tension coming, I stop, breathe deeply, and stay still (for at least five minutes). Each and every time, I feel clearer, and am much more productive than when I’d push through. Stillness is the consistent anchor to sustain any kind of change life can throw at you.

    —

    This is the paradox of transition—that although we are always changing (in circumstance around us, in emotion, even our cells are constantly regenerating), who we really are never changes. Who we are houses the divine and this powerful universal energy, which is a place we can call upon at any time. It is home.

  • When You’re In Transition: Being Patient and Accepting Uncertainty

    When You’re In Transition: Being Patient and Accepting Uncertainty

    “Fear, uncertainty, and discomfort are your compasses toward growth.” ~Celestine Chua

    Change is never easy, yet it’s always around us. Sometimes it hits us over the head (if you experience divorce, a career change, a move, or a loss of a loved one). Other times, it’s hiding around the next corner. And most of the time, it’s happening even we don’t even know it.

    My father firmly believed in the adage the only constant is change. Myself, however, I avoided change as much as I could because I didn’t want to deal with uncertainty.

    After a well-scheduled high school experience, I applied early to college and graduate school just to be sure I knew my future. That worked well for a little bit. Until it didn’t. Until I realized that these decisions kept me from understanding that I was completely terrified of not knowing what to do next. That all of my early acceptances were actually holding me back from discovering what I really want.

    After completing graduate school, I took my first pause, not knowing which direction I was headed in. To be honest, a pause is a kind word. It could also have been called a bit of a breakdown or simply the hard realization that life is a series of transitions and rarely “just planned out.”

    A few years down the road, I found myself in another career and personal transition. I noticed I wanted to cling to something again to avoid uncertainty. After pouring through more graduate school websites and clinging to the idea that finding certain work was the answer, I realized I needed time to be in transition, even though it terrified me.

    I needed time to heal and time to just be. Because that idea of being in transition made me quite uncomfortable, I knew I needed to sit with it, find my way through it, and finally become friends and a little more comfortable with transitions.

    I once heard that the only way out is through. There are no short cuts. In order to hang (or some days, wallow) in and through the transition, I learned a few tools along the way:

    Break the cycle of caring what other people think.

    For a while, I hated when acquaintances and former colleagues would ask, “What are you doing now?” I would cower under that question and try to invent answers that would be sure to impress them, such as “I am learning astrophysics” or “becoming a ballet dancer” (both utterly and completely untrue).

    On the whole, our society is fixated on success and we are rarely encouraged to take time “out.” Once I stopped judging myself, people’s questions seemed a lot less important to me and I was able to relax into my transition a little more.

    Learn to just hang out. Wherever it is you are.

    Take a day. An hour. A lunch break. Stop with the planning and action-stepping and self-help reading and just chill. Don’t check email. Don’t look for a solution. Turn it off. Whatever it is. It will still be there. Just take a pause and breathe. Because then the real pauses will feel a lot easier and familiar.

    Be cool with the idea that there is no quick fix.

    While looking for the next opportunity (personal or professional), it can be tempting to say yes to something just to end the search.

    A friend of mine used to encourage her other friends to date “the second-best-guy” and to just take any job. That didn’t work for me. At all. The times I tried that left me right back at square one, even more discouraged.

    The real thing takes time to find. The real thing is worth waiting for. The real thing is why we left whatever wasn’t working in the first place.

    Do things that keep you centered and grounded.

    It can be overwhelming to be in transition. It can be hard to make a simple decision sometimes. And it can be oh-so-tempting to self-medicate. Instead of obsessing over writing a resume or an e-mail or wasting time on Facebook, take a walk. Or sing a song or bake a chocolate cake. Or read a book or sing really loudly in the shower. Or do whatever it is that makes you feel centered. Do it every day. Commit to it.

    I may not be exactly where I want to be, but I am feeling closer to it every day and am beginning to welcome transitions, because as their words says, they help us transition to the place we want to be.

    Once we can soften into the transition and take the time—which is a gift—to relax into them, they can soon evolve into a place of respite, a place that is ripe with possibilities and excitement, a place that holds the space for us to become even stronger.

  • Changing Roles and Allowing Yourself to Evolve

    Changing Roles and Allowing Yourself to Evolve

    “Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer. “ –William S. Burroughs

    I have worked for many years as a shelter and spay neuter veterinary technician. Earlier this year, I had the misfortune of losing the job at the shelter where I had worked for many years.

    I found myself adrift. I had spent all these years caring for animals that had no one else to care for them. If I no longer had that job, I asked myself, who was I?

    Who are you? It’s the most elemental question in the world, but one that is not always easy to answer. Like most folks, I tend to answer this question by naming roles that I fulfill. Writer, boyfriend, son, veterinary technician, yogi, and entrepreneur—these are the things that first come to mind.

    It makes sense, because these are the roles that others see us fulfilling every day. In the world we operate in, we need to market ourselves as this or that role so that others know how to relate to us. But these are actually things that we do rather than what we are.

    Most religions and spiritual belief systems teach that we are not our bodies, though we inhabit them and identify with them through the course of a lifetime. Nor are we our minds, though we use our minds and intelligence to guide us in our daily interactions.

    When we identify with these things we cannot accept their loss through physical illness, injury, or death.

    Whether you believe that some part of us survives our physical death or not, it’s easy to see that when we identify with the roles that we fulfill, it becomes very difficult to accept it when those roles must change.

    When we lose our job or must change careers, when we go through a divorce or when someone who helps define a role goes away or dies, who are we then?

    There’s no single answer to this question. For some, there may be a realization that you exist outside of the body and self that you think of as “you” and that you will continue to “be” no matter what roles you shed or even when you shed your physical body. (more…)

  • What to Do When You’re New: In School, Work, or Your City

    What to Do When You’re New: In School, Work, or Your City

    “If you light a lamp for somebody, it will also brighten your path.” ~Buddhist saying

    Moving to a new country as a kid can be traumatizing because of the challenges of fitting into a new culture and new social customs.

    When I arrived in Northern California at the age of ten with my parents and younger two brothers, we were excited about being in America (home of Disneyland) but apprehensive about our how our classmates would react to us and how we would fit into the social environment of a school in a new country.

    My earliest memories of starting school in the 4th grade were not having to wear uniforms like we did in Malaysia, not having to stand up when speaking in class, and not having a regular morning assembly every morning prior to school starting.

    I welcomed the slightly relaxed curriculum, reading fun fiction titles in class and not having semester finals in elementary school.

    The challenges I found were as expected—not understanding the cultural context of what was happening in the classroom or references to American sports, entertainment, history and even holidays.

    It was also difficult fitting in and making friends initially in a close-knit school, where kids had grown up together since pre-school.

    Most of my classmates ignored me in the beginning. I found it difficult to engage in team sports activities or find lunchtime friends to visit with. Yes, there was some bullying, as well, about my mismatched, out-of-fashion clothes, my military-ready haircut, and even my accent, but I tried to take that all with good humor!

    While I recall eating lunch in solitude for several weeks and attending English as a Second Language classes trying to get accustomed to my new life in America, I did manage to make friends over the course of the school year and fit in.  I even started getting invitations to birthday parties by the end of the year. (more…)