Turn and Face the Strain

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who struggle with transitions and those who embrace change.

When it comes to transitions, I hide, I deny, I run as fast as I can in the other direction until the change swallows me whole. Then, like Jonah, I sit in the dark counting whale teeth until life spits me out before those digestive juices can do their job. It's not a brilliant strategy, but it's mine.

Normally, I cling to my imperfect strategy and it gets me by until things settle back into a predictable routine, but this fall, this season of change, finds me overwhelmed by the sheer number of transitions.

My twins graduated from high school in June are now in their new roles: one as a part-time community college student also exploring his opportunities through the new high school Transition House (I'm not making that up); the other as a full-time student at a schmancy east-coast school where she is learning to look down her nose at us Midwesterners even as we speak. They have handled their respective transitions quite smoothly (damn my superior parenting skills).

Me, not so much.

The next boy literally has one foot in the high school (for math) and the other in the middle school, while the youngest is working toward that great Jewish transition, becoming a bar mitzvah in April. They're doing well.

Me, not so much.

The oldest son got married this summer; the elder girl just got a new job and moved to a new city. They actually sought out these changes.

Me, not so much.

I wish I still embraced change with the joy and anticipation of my adolescents. Their lives have been blessed enough that they believe all change is good. I can still touch that feeling in my memories of the first days of college. So when did my feelings about change change?

I can tell you exactly. When I was a kid and even into adulthood, I loved roller coasters. The rush and swoop, the climb and fall, the tingle up the spine as your stomach rolls along the curves and your brain floats high above it all. I could get off of one ride and run to the next, panting and laughing and wanting more.

Then sometime between my last two pregnancies, my body lost its equilibrium. Maybe it was carrying those alien beings around in my womb. Maybe it was three pregnancies of hyperemesis that made the idea of flirting with G-forces somewhat less appealing. Maybe it was simply the fact that I was now responsible for other human beings (how boring is that?). In any case, I really can't do roller coasters any more without throwing up.

In a college philosophy class, we spent a great deal of energy on the constancy of change, the perception of time, and the seeming acceleration of both. If we're lucky, when we're young change means new schools, new jobs, new friends, new relationships, new places to live, and new things to see and do. But now I know that many of the changes to come in my life will be sad ones, irrevocable and final.

In just a few days, I'll be forced to acknowledge a "significant" birthday. My usual tactics of duck and cover have been working pretty well, unless I make the mistake of looking in a mirror. Just a bit ago, my friend Kate gave herself a fabulous "significant" birthday party, complete with dancing to songs where I actually knew the words. I swore then and there that I would not hide, but would welcome the dawn of a new age with just such a festive event.

Too bad the forces of transition have seen fit to throw the start of school (four schools, mind you), a 2,000-mile round-trip delivery, the Jewish high holidays and a ton of work in my path. It's hard to plan a party when you will be fasting on the Saturday before and your big day falls on a Monday.

I've watched in awe as my children have embraced the changes in their lives. I've seen my parents plan well, choosing their transitions instead of waiting for changes to be forced upon them. I've also seen the trauma that the denial of inevitable changes can bring.

Change will come, whether we're ready or not.

Change will come, whether it is celebrated or not.

So why not celebrate?

It may not be on the day (or even the week or month), but my significant change will be celebrated. In the meantime, I'll just keep riding that virtual roller coast known as my life.

How do you handle transitions, big or small? Tips and tricks are welcome here. And in case you haven't noticed, I have made a few changes around the old blog as my own private celebration. What do you think?

Ode to Hymn #694* (Free Hot Lunch)

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who take vacations and those who travel.

A vacation is someplace you go to relax, rest, rejuvenate. It often involves travel —sometimes a little, sometimes a lot — but usually the travel is direct, getting you from home to your point of destination. Once you arrive, there may be the occasional side trip or adventure, but usually you have a base of operations. Cottages, second homes, beach houses, resorts, and destination vacations, like Disney World, all fall under the realm of vacation. Visiting the grandparents in Florida is a vacation, even if it takes two days of driving each way. You could arguably include cruises in this list, as well.

Traveling is a whole different ball game. The point of traveling isn't where you're going, it's what happens along the way. Writer Miriam Beard once said: "Certainly, travel is more than seeing the sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living."

I hope that's true, otherwise the nearly three weeks that my family of six just spent crammed into a minivan were for naught. I like a nice vacation every once in a while, sitting on a beach or going to an island resort. I like to travel, too, but to travel successfully requires a lot of advance planning — something I don't enjoy. Fortunately, I have a husband who thinks vacations are a bore, who loves to travel, and who dives into all the research and prep work like a man on mission.

Traveling with three teens and a 'tween may not be everyone's idea of a good time, but this was our last hurrah before we send the girl off to college. From now on, chances are that when we gather it will be more of a vacation than a journey. One of the delicious things about this particular trip was that, with the exception of our furtherest point (a wedding in Seattle), every place we went was virgin territory for all of us.

A family is constantly in transition, but the changes are usually subtle. Suddenly, your boy is wearing flood pants and you realize he has grown three inches. Or your girl makes dinner for you and you realize how independent she is. Some of the changes are accompanied by physical symbols — that shiny new set of braces or that shiny new drivers license. Others are unheralded, almost unnoticed, like when toddler temper tantrums subside, or two consecutive years of whining taper off into the occasional eye roll. These are all signposts on the journey of a family.

But what do you do when you get to the end of the road; when one of your co-travelers is striking out on a new path of her own? If you are our family, you take one last road trip (just to ensure that as soon as you get home, she'll run screaming off to college).

When my youngest son was born, I knew he would be our youngest and I tried hard to really pay attention along the way. Despite my best efforts, many of those details have slipped away (four kids can really muddy your memory). I felt the same way on this trip. I was hyper aware of every detail along the way, worried not just about my memories of it, but that this would be the final family memory my daughter would have before her life changes forever. It was a fool's errand, trying to manufacture a memory. Memories don't come from planning — they come from doing.

We had our share of discord on this journey, but probably no more than we would have had at home — it was just harder to separate the perpetrators. We had our share of giggles, too, and bonding and awestruck moments and quietude sprinkled among the noise. When the dust settles, each of us will carry a different memory of this trip. Here are some of the things I learned along the way:

• The two most important things to pack for a long family trip are patience and compromise.
• A little hokey goes a long way — a reenacted shootout, a few dumb jokes at a rodeo, and the Hokey Pokey at the wedding added just enough. Bookending the trip with the Corn Palace and Spam Museum was probably overkill.
• Always take the scenic route. Interstates are great for getting from point A to point B, but the byways will take you to places you never dreamed.
• You can't rush experience. Leave "quickly" and "right now" at home.
• You find the best things off the beaten path. We saw a small bear tearing apart a log when we decided to take one last dirt road before leaving Yellowstone.
• Join AAA, learn how to change a tire and don't forget the bug spray.
• If you are looking to live the life of a vacation, don't have a family; family life is better suited to adventurers.

"Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.

It is played out over and over again

in the quietest chambers, that the mind 

can never break off from the journey."

— Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides

Are you a vacationer or a traveler? Share your adventures by clicking here. *And if you're curious, or a seasoned Interstate Highway traveler, you'll appreciate the lyrics of the song mentioned in the title, by one of my favorite bar bands.

Read more about our trip on The Chicago Moms; see pictures here.