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When I was growing up and facing a new transition, my mother always said to me, "Just remember: In one month, you'll know where the bathroom is."
I carried that idea forward through college, my first (and second and third) job, grad school, marriage ... the "bathroom" becoming a stand-in for all the unknowns, all the nameless fears, all the "what ifs" that scurried around my brain before I embarked on a new stage. And time consistently proved my mother correct; within a few weeks, I could reliably identify the bathroom's location alongside many other useful lessons and insights.
Now I'm staring down the next logical transition after pregnancy and motherhood: ending maternity leave and returning to work. I already know where the bathroom is at my office. Yet I fear I will need to relearn everything else as I forge my new identity as manager, employee, peer, and parent.
At this point you're probably saying, "Julia, go back and reread your own opening paragraphs." The transition I warily eye will pass. I will be made anew. Until then, however, all I'm seeing is the light under the door -- the sole sign that something else awaits.
What is on this side I know? Un-vacuumed rugs. Scuffed walls. Discarded toys. Crumbs and paperwork spread across the kitchen table. My baby's sleepy head resting on his father's shoulder. That little face pulling back from nursing to regard me. My dwindling personal space. My sacred free time. The life I have created and know so well. Who I used to be.
What is on the side I don't know? The only thing I'm sure of is the light itself. An occasional shadow breaks it, but I don't know yet to what or whom those shadows belong. How big is the new room? What does it hold? Where do its other doorways lead? As a fellow new parent put it, each stage presents different strengths and challenges, and I'm certain the room will hold those. Along with new priorities. New vocabulary. Discoveries about myself and others. A life I will re-create and come to know. Who I will become.
Ultimately, the only answer I need today, right now, in this moment, is to know the light is on. It flickers in mystery. I will learn soon enough what it illuminates.
Prayer #332: Right to Passage
All ye who enter here, take note: The choice to cross this threshold is yours. Your feet on the creaking timber, your fingers on the sticky doorknob, your cheek on the peeling paint -- the movements alone will beget revelation. Thus, proceed with optimism. Simply opening the door is challenge and gift enough.