transitions

Less than 12 hours after our plane landed in Charlotte, NC we pulled out of our garage and headed to church. With our things still in storage, all we had were the travel clothes in our suitcases, no hair dryer to fix my hair, and a Ziploc bag of the most basic make up. But after over 200 days away, we were going back to church and I was so excited.  

As I walked up to the front door, I saw a close friend coming right at me. I’m not sure she recognized me. We weren’t expected faces anymore. To see us at church was unusual now. But once she realized we were actually there, we hugged. And hugged. And hugged. The hug lasted way longer than normal and it was all I could do not to burst out in ugly tears before I even entered the doors of church. I was already coming completely unglued. After her, came more friends. These precious women, all of whom I have done life with for years and years, were hugging me together. I felt my whole body relax. Like I had been holding my breath for 200 days.

We have been home for 37 days now.

37 days of our familiar country, town, and language. Our home and our neighborhood. Our family and friends. Familiar roads and grocery stores. Familiar foods and familiar traffic.

We did it. We left our home, traveled the world for what felt like a year, but also a day, and now, we are home.

An unfortunate truth in all of this is that out of our whole family, I was the one who struggled most.

It’s me. Hi! – you know the song.

Before the trip, I thought a lot about Nick and our kids. Day after day I prepared for what they would need and how they might handle it all. We did the best we could to prepare the kids and they did just fine. They had their moments but they surprised us in the best ways. Conquering adventure after adventure.  

I also conquered days and adventures. Amazing Days. Days filled with wonder and super-mom strength. Times of complete disbelief that dreams I’ve had my whole life were coming true. I was actually getting to walk the streets of Paris, Florence, Barcelona, and Rome.

And yet, I cried many nights over how much I missed the familiar. How much I craved time with friends and family. I simultaneously mourned the loss of my familiar and grew to love the adventure of new.

Why?

Why did I struggle?

Why the juxtaposition?

I think it can be described in one word.

Transition.

It comes in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes transitions in life come without warning. You don’t choose them. They’re often brought on by tragedy, bad decisions, or crazy life circumstances.

Been there.

Done that.

Wouldn’t recommend it.

But this kind of transition…The one you choose. The self-inflicted discomfort and ripping away of the familiar. This was the goal. The changing. And yet, it’s still hard.

I have learned that the unknown doesn’t always bring out the best in me. I see now that I had become a bit of a control freak over the years. Not the kind who has endless lists and has every minute of the day planned, but the kind who likes to have a handle on the future. Like maybe one who can answer the question, “Where will I be in 1 year?”

I knew our entire life was changing. We weren’t going to simply go on a trip and come home to the life we knew. And so, as we traveled, I felt myself holding on for dear life with one hand in America and the other in Europe. My feet roaming the world, but my heart in limbo.

Our European adventure came to an end. I was surprised when Nick and I decided to come home. I wasn’t sure we would, but I believe I needed to know we would come home.

And now…

The familiar feels, well familiar. I miss the adventure. There is an unsettledness in my spirit that I know means something is coming. Something new. Something brave. Completely unfamiliar.

Transition. Sometimes wanted. Sometimes feared. Always inevitable.

I can feel it.