Moving out of the neutral zone

About eight months ago, I wrote about the neutral zone, Bill Bridges’s name for the sometimes very long period between endings and beginnings. I wrote about moving furniture into the neutral zone, settling in for a good long stay. And it has been a good long stay. But I wasn’t going to stay there forever. There is a part of me that feels, just in these last couple of weeks, like I am packing my bags to move away from the neutral zone. I am beginning.

Today I finished a very hard stint—tenure deadline, stomach flu that got everyone in the family, tricky two-day teambuilding work (my first in this new country) that went really well. Waiting for the train to take me home just now, I realised that things are now in motion; other than on the train platform, I’m mostly not waiting around anymore. The tenure process is well underway. The work at NZCER is now familiar enough that I’m involved in projects and committees, where my work is getting to the presentation and publication stage, and where I’m exploring new ideas and building on old ones. I have a clear idea about what my new house will look like—and the architects have the same image. I’ve begun the work of Kenning New Zealand, have had my first GrowthEdge in this new world, have done my first management team facilitation. There are fewer firsts ahead of me than behind me, fewer utterly unknowns in this new land. The questions have been: Will I translate here? Will I find work and friends that I like? Will I find a place to live that I love? The answers, tentative but growing in security, are Yes yes yes. I’m not sure I’ve ever really known so well the difference between the neutral zone and the new beginnings, never known what a huge step into comfort the new beginnings place could be. Somehow I’m moving with the unfamiliar seasons here, and am beginning to bud. I don’t know how long we’ll be here in this land, still can’t answer the questions everyone always asks about that, but for now, my new lemon tree and I will put roots in the rich soft sandy soil and see how lush we can grow.

[The first two pictures are from my walk home from the train: a perfect curling wave--ah the light behind it!--and the sunset. It was a walk where the most dangerous thing that can happen, did: an exuberant--and, sadly for me, wet--puppy shook all over my work clothes. The last picture is on the beach by our house 20 minutes later, kids playing soccer, Perry chasing the ball--and the same puppy, shaking off on my jeans (not pictured!).]