(c) 2011 Christiana Lambert Furgus looking out the window as he leaves his mother and his home in the desert southwest.

(c) 2011 Christiana Lambert
Furgus looking out the window as he leaves his mother and his home in the desert southwest.

Some we choose, some we know are coming, and others are thrust upon us, seemingly out of the blue.

It’s often those surprising twists in our paths that really hit hard at our sense of safety. Though we have barely begun to mourn what is over, we often must focus on some sort of action. Right now or yesterday, or—at the bare minimum—tomorrow. There’s not much time to ponder what’s going on—many times the reflection will have to wait until later once we have answered the immediate question of “What now?”

So tiring to deal with those twists without an accurate road map, but there is no time to find a rest stop. In those moments of great shock, we can only let our reasoning skills take over and do what must be done. The head must rule until the heart won’t distract from choosing the next route.

Transitions are life, despite how much we want to believe otherwise. Many times we have to travel a long way down the road before we realize that the rocks in the road—that did not hit us, the bridge that washed out—before we reached it, the slow detour—that showed us a much better route, all those sorts of things either saved us from disaster or sent us on the journey we were meant to take, even if we did have to experience a few bumps on the road along the way.

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