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Recently we took a family vacation to the beach. My two-year-old had never been to the ocean before. He gave it a serious, long look, then announced, “I go in it.” As soon as he made his way across the beach he did that, sitting down in wet sand. Fully clothed. Just before dinner. No hesitation.
My five-year-old was a lot more cautious. He had been to the beach before, but he had been so young that he didn’t remember it. He ran across the beach but stopped just before the sand got wet — that line between solid ground and the constant motion of the water. For a while he played on the beach but stopped right at that line. He watched the waves. He watched people wading in the water. He watched the surfers.
Eventually he ventured into that in-between space. First he stepped on the wet sand, but jumped back before the water touched his toes. After a while he got his feet wet. Bit by bit, he went further. Then he began to play — dancing, splashing, running, digging and building sand castles.
Most of us struggle with transitions.
I think about this a lot, as I help leaders and teams close the gap between their vision for their work and the current reality. Mostly I work with people when they’re at a transition point. Some of those are pretty clear — leadership changes, starting a new project, or moving an existing program or project to the next phase. But sometimes people just feel stuck. That’s a transition point too. Coming up to that line in the sand where you really can’t see the way forward. It’s too unfamiliar.
It was inspiring to watch my son go from nervous to all in. Pretty soon he was hauling water from the ocean to the large pit he had dug in the sand, trying to fill it up. He was shaping — even enlarging — that transitional space between land and sea. Leave it to kids to make all our abstract conversations about transitions, change, and learning concrete and obvious. And to approach it with joyful play.
So, here is what I learned on my summer vacation.
Transitions are always challenging. They can get a bit easier the more we practice, but I think they’re usually a bit overwhelming when you find yourself in the middle of one. Watching my kids play at the beach reminded me of these lessons that we learn again and again:
We learn with practice. Entering that in-between space can be scary. And that makes sense. It is unfamiliar and unpredictable. The sand is quite literally shifting under your feet. But you get better at adjusting. You learn what it feels like when the water pulls the sand away, and how to adjust your footing so you don’t fall. You learn how to prepare yourself for when bigger waves come in. And you learn to get up when you do fall.
Transitions are inherently messy. Sand. Salt water stickiness. More sand, showing up in unexpected places even after you’ve been home for days… Transitions are messy. It isn’t anybody’s fault. It doesn’t mean that you’re doing it wrong. That’s just the way it is.
There are treasures to be found. Shells, stones, seaweed, small sea animals… and an opportunity to dance with nature. You can find things in the in-between spaces that you can’t find anywhere else. That’s part of the magic. That’s why you’re there.
Don’t go it alone. Venturing in with others makes it more fun. And having a hand to hold when a big wave comes can help you both. If you still go down, you can check on each other. And a second set of eyes looking for treasures doesn’t hurt either.
I’ll be keeping these things in mind as we make the transition from summer adventures to our school year routine — learning as we go, cleaning up the never-ending sand, and looking at those treasured shells and rocks that we brought home. And with these kids leading the way, I’ll have a lot of help remembering to play and dance.