Took a wonderful hike along the beach at Watch Hill (RI) Saturday, and although it was warm, it was clearly the end of summer. A few brave swimmers were in the water, but my husband and I kept our shoes on and admired it from the safety of the beach. After a long, hot summer, it felt like a gift. Because it’s well past Labor Day, dogs were allowed on the beach and it was fun to watch them playing in the water and chasing each other.

This got me thinking about change and how, although I resist it, it almost always opens a door. There is a phase with change that always causes me trouble, and that’s when it’s clear the old is going away or not working, and the new hasn’t shown up yet. As I used to tell my clients when I worked as a career coach, knowing what you don’t want is a really good beginning. That can be a good time to stop, observe, not feel pressured to jump into the next thing. (Advice I’m very good at giving to others, and not so good at following myself.) Why is that so difficult? Is it because we define ourselves by our work?

For me, having a project, whether it’s writing a book or preparing to speak about stopping burnout, gives me purpose, direction, and focus. I feel useful. I’m excited. But the in between times, the not knowing, makes me anxious and sometimes even crabby. And I think this is because I have to let go and trust. I have accept that a transition is exactly that–it’s leaving one thing for another. And to be ready for the new thing, the next phase, requires pulling back, waiting, listening. To use a gardening analogy, it’s preparing the soil.

The waves were crashing, the sunlight sparkling off the water and my husband and I decided it was the perfect moment for a “selfie.” We wanted the ocean in the background, so we stood just beyond where the waves were breaking and snapped a few shots. But before we were finished, a big wave swept in and filled out shoes with sand and water. We laughed and made our soggy way back to the parking lot. Okay, I get it. The summer is over.