All day yesterday I was ahead of schedule–what schedule there was–because time moves slowly for me in big transitions, and the clock is ticking on the biggest transition of my life.
Saturday morning will come, and I will board a plane with a suitcase and an army duffel bag to land eight hours later in Chicago and the beginning of the next chapter. I will have Sunday to take a breath, and then the train leaves the station on Monday morning–working and living in a big new place.
All that is 48 hours away, and those hours are molasses-thick with dread. Dread slows things down.
I don’t dread the new work or the new church. I don’t dread Chicago for sure. When I think about it, I can’t locate the source of the dread. But it’s there. Fear of failure? Probably. Anxiety about being apart from my family for four months? No doubt. A general dislike of changes to my routine? Yep.
I keep thinking that if there was a way to be airlifted over the next several months of professional and family transition to be dropped off in the place where life is normal and routine again, I would pay dearly for that ride.
But aren’t the tumultuous and unsteady seasons of transition the most generative? Can’t they be sources of great learning and transformation?
My last transition was my roughest ever, and it produced a writing project I’m glad got done. Had it been easy, I wouldn’t have made that.
I’m trying to embrace the dread to see what I can make with it.