Managing transitions: the three stages of change

Fifteen months ago, my wife Sarah and I had reached the end of a sad, exhausting and life-foundation-wobbling five year journey to have a baby. One (very good) fertility book we read said not to make any big decisions at this time. So, like completely normal and sane people in this situation, we sold our house, took a career break and set off to cycle round the world while living in a tent.

Cue the beginning of uncountable periods of time working on the logistics of estate agents and solicitors, of trans-continental routes, options of destinations and of course the important equipment to take on such an adventure. That was time consuming and challenging, much like managing any change. But it was the emotional roller coaster of the never ending transitions from then on that has been the hardest.

It’s not the changes that do you in, it’s the transitions

From a work life of being ‘needed’ by other people, were were transitioning to a life of it just being us two all day, every day. Transitioning from a world where you have a cupboard of food, to doing a food shop every day (our panniers don’t carry much, and definitely don’t have a fridge!).

Repeatedly transitioning from a country with sunshine, incredible off-road cycle trails and beautiful campsites to somewhere new… with freezing nights, rainy days, cultural quirks and norms, and terrifying highway hard shoulders.

We’ve got a lot better at managing the changes this trip requires: identifying and working through options, seeking advice and not labouring decisions. We’ve got better at managing the transitions too. Some of it is just by going through transitions a lot and innately getting better at it, and some of it is far more purposeful – learning as we go and using that learning.

With all that in mind, we’ve got our biggest milestone yet on the horizon; after cycling more than 23,000km and visiting 25 countries we’re about to come home. The change is being managed – returning to work, finding a short term rental, phone contracts and dentist visits sorted. But it’s likely to be the transition that we struggle with, isn’t it?

We’ve got better at managing the transitions… just by going through transitions a lot and innately getting better at it, and some of it is far more purposeful – learning as we go and using that learning.

We’ve started trying to understand how the transition might be for us. Acknowledging those thoughts and feelings for ourselves is really useful, but it’s even more useful when we hear what the other thinks – and how we can support and learn from one another. I’m also hoping that the act of writing this down helps me reflect and provides something to refer back to as that bumpy transition begins.

I’ve always found William Bridges’ book Managing Transitions to be hugely helpful at work, and it’s served us in good stead for elements of this trip. At its heart, Bridges describes three zones that we purposefully move through as we experience a change, and how we can expect to behave, feel, and be motivated as we move through those zones.

Endings and letting go

I feel like I’ve had a full lifetime of experiences in the last year – places, faces, thoughts, frustrations and learning. It’s been full of wonder. But that doesn’t mean the best year of my life is behind me.

The days of waking up and riding my beloved bike all day, every day, are behind me for a little while – and that’s OK. It’s not a lifestyle I can continue forever. We won’t be the special people sat on the pavement outside the convenience store – fair game for the passing public to chat to and interrogate.

We’re both feeling different about letting go of this trip – I could carry on a little longer. That’s fine, and we’ve discussed that without judgment and will carry it forward without malice. But we’re a team, and it’s okay to know we might feel differently about something but still agree on the way forward.

Neutral zone

I’m not sure how this transition will be – I think the structure of normal life will come as a shock, and that only having two days off each week will feel more than a little different! We’re worried about having a bit of a reverse-culture-shock experience. We’re busy filling up our weekends with long-overdue reunions with friends and family, but not cramming in so much that we feel overwhelmed and exhausted.

Every day we’ve had interactions with strangers, but these are often quite repetitive and a bit skin deep. Our social skills will be rusty – but we’ll give that time. Some friends, and perhaps family, that I’ve known forever might not have any questions about our trip. That’s OK – we did it for us, and not for them.

But anyway, I’m not sure I’m going to be that good at responding to the inevitable question of “How was it?” – hopefully I’ll find my voice over time. It’s all going to feel a little uncertain for us both in similar and in different ways – and we’ll support each other through it.

New beginnings

There are many reasons we’re coming home. Some are simply about taking a rest from cycle touring, but many are things we’re attracted to as the positives of returning: the new beginning we see on the horizon. Making a home, feeling like we belong somewhere, finding our community and learning to embrace the positives of a life that’s just the two of us.

That’s why we’re coming home, and that’s how we’ll know we’re actually making a strong foothold in our ‘new beginning’ after this amazing time away. It almost definitely won’t happen quickly, and it won’t always be easy – but we both know where we’re headed and why we’re doing it.

I wonder how often when leading change in health and care we’re really clear about what’s going to be ending, how people will feel (and how we can support them) and how we’ll know that the new beginning has become the norm… and we’re not just stuck in that challenging middle zone.

So are we sad this adventure is ending? Of course we are. Are we excited to come back? You betcha.