I'm posting a 3-part series called "Transition," a piece that I wrote for a writing prompt while participating in an online writing workshop during our first year in Budapest - a personification of transition. You can read the first part here. (I'm beginning with the final paragraph of Part 1.)
His calm-natured manner made me feel comfortable as we sifted through life’s important questions. His high belief and loving affirmations created an excitement for what was to come. I anticipated my times with him.
As thought provoking and serious the late-night talks, there were times when he was as carefree as a sheet flapping in the breeze on a summer day. Wise teacher and counselor one day, friend and companion on another.
At one moment, I saw him as Professor or Theologian with the distinguished look of wire-rimmed glasses, sporting his tweed sports coat over his pressed button down shirt. But then in another moment, I might call him Jack or John, as if he was the childhood friend who had roamed pastures and waded creeks pretending that life was an adventure on the wild frontier.
It was in those times of deep friendship that he would talk about the “door.” It was one of those old adages I’m sure he used with everyone, but I felt the personal connection when he’d give me that modest grin, a slight nod with a raised eyebrow, “You’ll never know what’s behind that door until you walk through it.” Then we would camp on that thought on those late-night talks, and he’d turn into his professor mode, moving the discussion along with reflective and intuitive thoughts to what that door might hold.
Drawing from his wisdom and guidance, I took some of the biggest steps in my life.
I thought of the door, and though the beyond was frightening, I wanted to open it and see what was on the other side. He was right. If I didn’t walk through it I might miss out on something. A greater plan. The map.
And so I did.
It was like stepping into another world. Not a fantasy world, but a real world.
When I walked through that door, I figured that was the last time I would see him. His probing questions had left their mark, launched me into new horizons. But, much to my surprise he walked right through that door with me. Little did I know he had lessons to teach me in this new place. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. It was enough to just walk through the door.
When the novelty of the newness wore off, and the new world became my world, there were things he wanted to show me in this new place. He’d introduce me to people, take me to places, teach me new lessons. At times, he would ask questions without giving answers, creating a space for maturity to blossom. But, he would still stop by and we’d take those late-night walks processing what I was learning. With a knowing look, a nod of the head, he’d raise that bushy eyebrow and say; “Experience is life’s greatest teacher.”
Funny, those probing questions never changed. He was always pulling me back to what really mattered – heart, passions, significance.
That was my first door to walk through, and that one eventually led to another… and another… and another.
His calm-natured manner made me feel comfortable as we sifted through life’s important questions. His high belief and loving affirmations created an excitement for what was to come. I anticipated my times with him.
As thought provoking and serious the late-night talks, there were times when he was as carefree as a sheet flapping in the breeze on a summer day. Wise teacher and counselor one day, friend and companion on another.
At one moment, I saw him as Professor or Theologian with the distinguished look of wire-rimmed glasses, sporting his tweed sports coat over his pressed button down shirt. But then in another moment, I might call him Jack or John, as if he was the childhood friend who had roamed pastures and waded creeks pretending that life was an adventure on the wild frontier.
It was in those times of deep friendship that he would talk about the “door.” It was one of those old adages I’m sure he used with everyone, but I felt the personal connection when he’d give me that modest grin, a slight nod with a raised eyebrow, “You’ll never know what’s behind that door until you walk through it.” Then we would camp on that thought on those late-night talks, and he’d turn into his professor mode, moving the discussion along with reflective and intuitive thoughts to what that door might hold.
Drawing from his wisdom and guidance, I took some of the biggest steps in my life.
I thought of the door, and though the beyond was frightening, I wanted to open it and see what was on the other side. He was right. If I didn’t walk through it I might miss out on something. A greater plan. The map.
And so I did.
It was like stepping into another world. Not a fantasy world, but a real world.
When I walked through that door, I figured that was the last time I would see him. His probing questions had left their mark, launched me into new horizons. But, much to my surprise he walked right through that door with me. Little did I know he had lessons to teach me in this new place. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. It was enough to just walk through the door.
When the novelty of the newness wore off, and the new world became my world, there were things he wanted to show me in this new place. He’d introduce me to people, take me to places, teach me new lessons. At times, he would ask questions without giving answers, creating a space for maturity to blossom. But, he would still stop by and we’d take those late-night walks processing what I was learning. With a knowing look, a nod of the head, he’d raise that bushy eyebrow and say; “Experience is life’s greatest teacher.”
Funny, those probing questions never changed. He was always pulling me back to what really mattered – heart, passions, significance.
That was my first door to walk through, and that one eventually led to another… and another… and another.
To be continued . . .
