Can We Go from A to B Without This Transition Business?

This is a story about transition. And the desert in September. And doing things imperfect and afraid. And launching into the unknown.

But first, it is about camping.

We have a yearly tradition of camping with friends over Labor Day each year, up near Mormon Lake, Arizona, off a Forest Service Road that leads us right into a meadow surrounded by Ponderosa pines.

We tent-camped this year, having given away our 1965 canvas Montgomery Ward trailer to a young family who was thrilled with the prospect of restoring it to its vintage glory, an endeavor my husband and I had neither the time, nor skill, to attempt. But the giving away of the trailer meant the return of the air mattress and if anyone has discovered an air mattress that can stand the test of time that does NOT need blowing up again at 2 a.m., I want to hear about it. Anyone?

The temps in the mid-70's days and mid-50's nights were a welcome change from the Phoenix area where temps still raged over 100 degrees. And I don't know about you, but sometimes you just have to leave behind everyday responsibilities to swallow bite-size morels of freedom by playing hooky on the weekend as you snarf down s'mores for lunch, the outside toasted to a perfect brown, and top it off with a hot dog covered in ketchup and relish. S'more first. Then a hot dog. Live dangerously.

September in the desert is a tug-of-war month between autumn and summer, with summer usually the victor. We had daily rains while camping, but knew the city was done with the yearly monsoons as the desert hunkered down for the yearly dry spell until winter rains. A nearby meadow bloomed with asters, bird's foot dayflowers, yarrow, and goldeneyes, but in the valley, the desert transitioned to stickers and burrs as the plants prepared the best vehicle for transporting seeds for future life, a reality all-to-well-known to desert hikers whose socks return home with unwanted hitchhikers.

Fall in the desert is a sticky-prickly kind of place. But let's face it, so are most transitions.

Last week I transitioned from writing to launching a workshop for those touched by cancer. (The next class will open in January.) According to my calendar, the time of transporting seeds for new life was not ideal. Other responsibilities and commitments filled in more dates than I wanted to count. Everything inside me resisted the prospect of launching my project from the safety of my office to the scrutiny of others.

Should I hold out until winter rains?

But sometimes seeds need to be released into less-than-perfect conditions, with a hope and a prayer into an uncertain future, so when the rains come, you are ready.

Haven't you found this to be true?

Transitions are messy, awkward, and fear-filled, but are necessary for what is about to be born. If we wait for perfection, it will never happen.

So, what are you sitting on? What is holding you back? Have you done the steps ready to prepare? Is it time to launch into an uncertain future?

Loosen your grip. Let go.

Watch to see who carries your seeds.