On the transition.
And the quiet joys of the in between.
About a month ago, I shared that we’re leaving the city. And now, here we are, less than two weeks away from the official move, standing in that awkward space between two lives, one wrapping up and one just beginning.
It’s a weird season of transition, and like most transitions, it’s full of mixed feelings and small joys.
This weekend, we ate three salads made entirely from our new garden with enough leftovers to share with my brother’s family. We’ve been watching the long grass surge in its spring growth spurt, giving us more to cut than we can keep up with. The lilacs are blooming, the honeysuckle fills the air with sweetness, the weigela is blushing pink, and the roses are budding, signalling even more beauty to come.
The farmers are working the fields that surround our new home, and the kids are learning about fresh country air. At night, we listen to the coyotes calling to each other across the fields, and in the morning, we’re greeted by gobbling wild turkeys. During the day, the kids race their bikes up and down wide-open stretches of land, and the day often ends with the birds chirping intensely, as though they have something urgent to say.
While there is so much joy woven through this season, transitions carry their own quiet complexities. I’m reminding myself that transitions are simply part of the rhythm of life. They are where new roots take hold and where we stretch to expand. They create room for growth, new experiences, and different joys.
I believe we are meant to evolve. We need to step beyond the familiar and loosen our grip on the old comforts that keep us stuck. We can’t stay in the same place forever, simply because it feels safe. Life calls us to keep moving, keep becoming, and keep opening ourselves to what’s next.
For the last ten years, I’ve been running toward a goalpost that always seemed to move just as I was about to reach it. Every time I hit a milestone, the definition of success slipped further ahead. Just one more achievement or one more win. It’s an endless race where the finish line keeps shifting, leaving no space to pause or breathe.
But transitions invite us to step off that track entirely. They pull us out of the relentless chase and into a space where we’re no longer measured by how fast or how far we go, but by how present we are with what’s unfolding. Transitions remind us that life isn’t just about chasing the next goal. It’s about noticing where we are right now, letting go of what no longer fits, and making space for something new to take root.
When you’re in transition, there’s no clear goalpost, no tidy finish line waiting at the end. Instead, there’s only the slow, steady work of moving through it, of loosening your grip and letting go.
And that is where I’m at right now.