When one door closes, another opens: Learning to let go

Have you ever felt like you were straddling two worlds? Not in an extraterrestrial sense, but where one chapter of your life is finished and you are staring at a blank screen trying to write a new chapter.

In modern jargon it’s called transitioning.

Since my husband’s death, my metaphor for staring at a blank screen (thank goodness I don’t suffer from writer’s block!) is that the door to my old familiar life has slammed shut and I am standing in the hallway of life staring at another door. More times than I care to admit, I have turned around and banged on that shut door, trying to get back in. But, alas, that door is bolted from the inside.

Every transition begins with an ending—and they are uncomfortable, at best. Transition and the disruption it causes is one of the most challenging things we humans encounter. They may be voluntary, involuntary or catastrophic. Leaving an existing state of affairs is difficult: we are forced to let go of the old and familiar (the devil we know) and enter uncharted waters (the devil we don’t know).

From the get-go, we humans are always in transition. We go from grade to grade, to high school and beyond. During those years, some made the transition easily. For others, it was fraught with anxiety. Folks, ready or not, by the time we reach adulthood most of us have gone through many transitions: changing jobs, getting married, relocating, losing a job, securing a new job, having children, breakup of relationships, losing a spouse or partner through divorce or death. During the time of transition, everything seems to be in a flux—and why not? Our old patterns have disintegrated and new patterns have yet to be established.

Lucky me, I got a do-over! My dream came true when I moved from Staten Island to Jamesport. I had always wanted to live near the water and here I was about to embark on another exciting chapter of my life with a truly wonderful man. I was giddy with excitement and happiness yet, the twin of these positive feelings was anxiety and depression.

Thank goodness, I am a not a shrinking violet; I hit the ground running and formed new and healthy relationships. Sure there were days when I thought of my old life, and what I had left behind, but the operative word is “behind.” Being reflective can be beneficial at times, but to live life looking into the rear view mirror is downright dangerous.
Before one can transition successfully, we must deal with “unfinished business.” Who wants to feel like a fish out of water, gasping for breath? More often than not, we grasp at the first thing that comes along and rush to make a new beginning. Not the way to go, trust me.

Some folks may make friends in haste, only to discover, down the road a piece, that friendships born out of loneliness do not possess enough glue to hold together. During tough times, these friendships all but fall apart.
Widowed or divorced folks are particularly vulnerable to the pitfalls of transitioning. Unwilling to grieve their loss, (who wants to feel lousy?) they start “using.” The drug of choice may be the “shop till you drop” mindset, abusing alcohol, drugs or blindly entering into a relationship that ends in more heartache.

Most of us have been programmed to judge or criticize our emotions as good or bad. The reality is: emotions are. Period. Even a voluntary transition can cause sadness, longing, anxiety and, yes, depression. And if we are feeling that way, we may start to wonder if we’ve gone ‘round the bend. We should feel happy, right? This is the thing we wanted and yet… Now, we have compounded the transitioning process by judging ourselves. What a precarious way to live!

In William Bridges’ book Transitions: Making Sense of Life’s Changes he lists three stages of transition. The first stage is fall: the grass turns brown, leaves fall and another season has come to a close. The world around us can look drab. This is a time to bid farewell to our former lives and routines, and trust me, it’s not easy!

The second stage is winter: the soil lies fallow and uncultivated. This is a time of waiting—and for me, patience is not a strong point. However, difficult as it was, I learned to practice “active patience.” We may feel empty and confused. There is a glitch in our connections—we are not connected yet to the new or disconnected from the past.

The third stage is spring: flowers poke through the soil, trees start to bud, and the earth is ripe with rebirth. This is the time of letting go of the old situation, relationship or event. Our energy and zest for our new life overshadows the longing for the past.

I suppose if we view the sweeping changes we grapple with as the natural flow of life, we may deem them more palatable. But therein lies the rub: some folks stay in the transitioning mode because they are too paralyzed with fear to take the next step. The comfort themselves with the overuse of the word “transitioning”.

Those who have relocated may never venture out to meet new people. They will remain isolated and harken back to memories of the past. Some folks have told me that they never adjusted to living in a semi-rural area.

While transitioning, especially with grief, it’s important to give ourselves “me” time. Reflecting and finishing old business is important. But there comes a time, when you gotta move on. I have often said, (to the astonishment of some) “I don’t want to be a career widow.” Although, I am over- qualified (having been widowed twice), widowhood doesn’t define me. I am still Ceil, a tad bruised, but me nevertheless.

Today I came across these words from Amelia Earhart, “The most difficult thing is the decision to act, and the rest is merely tenacity.”  This quote was the springboard I needed to get a move-on and the inspiration for this column.
I’ve been standing in this blasted hallway for over a year now and it occurred to me that I should just turn the knob and walk through that door. I suppose the fear of the unknown kept me cemented to the floor.

But wait… in my perplexity, I didn’t see there were several doors.

Which door will I chose? Hmm. Not sure. I will let my heart guide me. My buddy “doubt” is whispering in my other ear.

“What if it proves to be the wrong door?”

I’m learning to talk back to that voice. “So what! I have been through the worst, what more do I have to lose?”

And, really, folks, nothing is written in stone. There is always a chance for a do-over!

Celia Iannelli is a native New Yorker enjoying a second career — in ‘retirement’ — as a freelance writer. She lives in Jamesport.