Transitions

Webster says that a transition is, by definition: passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another : change b: a movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another.

When I hear the word, many images come to my mind. I think of exit ramps. Kaleidoscopes. Indian summers. I think of the eyeglasses that came out a few years ago that, ironically, "transition" from eyeglasses to sunglasses when out in the sun.

My life these days might qualify as the third definition.

I have made a lot of transitions in the past. Some have been made without my knowledge, some have been smooth and natural. Others have been rocky and tumultuous. You know how it is... we've all been through these "seasons".

You moved away from home for the first time.

You changed your major.

You ended that relationship.

You made the first move.

You joined the gym.

You went to the first meeting.

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This time last year, we packed her life up. Strategically loaded boxes and tables and couches and decorations into a trailer. And we moved her downtown. East Maxwell Street. An adorable little house with wooden floors and french doors leading to the kitchen. They spontaneously bought a green armchair and a kitten.

I would spend all last summer in my younger sister's house. Walking to coffee shops, learning to cook without meat. We spent most of our afternoons on the porch swing, or in the park playing tennis. On Sunday nights we'd walk a block down to Woodland and play with a drum circle. We were regulars at Ramseys on the corner.

It wouldn't take me long to forget what life was like without Emily or Todd. And the Maxwell house became my safe haven between work and night classes. The place where I would sleep when I didn't feel like driving home.

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I loved my apartment on Pimlico. If only because it was mine.

Any and all character in that small two bedroom apartment was added by Liza and myself. From the paintings we hung, to the incense we burned, the food we cooked, the music we played.

My kitten grew up into a cat. An ornery cat.

We painted recycling bins. We held community dinners. We were woken up in the middle of the night by the country club's storm warning. And the neighbors' late night drug deals.

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This weekend, we are packing up the Maxwell house and the Pimlico apartment.

I found Arthur a new home.

My paintings have come off the walls. I've boxed up my books and cookbooks and taken down my curtains. I'm downsizing. Getting rid of almost everything. My goal is to be able to fit almost everything I own into a Toyota Camry.

I'm in transition.

A new living space.

A new concept of home.

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This weekend, we are packing Kat up. Except Moe is going to drive off with all her stuff in his big, white van. And Kat is going to hop on a plane headed to Bolivia.

She's gotten her shots, raised her funds, brushed up her on her spanish.

And she will be gone. For two months. To a different hemisphere.

She is in transition.

A new living space.

A new concept of home.

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In the middle of such transitions... the world around us often seems blurry.

Out of focus.

Our perception is off.

Our judgement, unsound.

We are bias and overwhelmed.

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We are all, in medias res.

In the very middle of things.

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My prayer is that our transitions, whether or not they are smooth ones, would be beneficial.

That they would take us from something good, to something better.

And that the Father would equip us - in our bewilderment, in our dizzyness - to see the world around us with unprecedented clarity.