Life changes shift energy fields

Once upon a time in America the words “change” and “transition” were almost profanities. The period after World War II from the mid-1940s to the early 1960s saw Americans so embrace the goals of peace and “normalcy” that they came to virtually worship at the altar of status quo. Stability and security were the order of the day and “don’t rock the boat” was practically the nation’s motto.

A friend born in 1945 personifies the spirit of the era: “I don’t like change,” he said. “I was raised to believe that life works this way: You’re born, you get an education, a job, a marriage, a house, children and a comfortable retirement, and that’s it. That’s your life. I was raised to expect that and work for it, and I still believe in it. And I don’t like surprises of any kind.”

The friend admits readily that reality hasn’t cooperated with his prosaic visions. His transitions have been many and trying, spawned by divorce, the loss of a high-paying job after 17 years when the company sold; several episodes of job hunting and adjusting to new jobs; another divorce; a heart attack; a recurring respiratory ailment; and, most recently, the discovery that his retirement covers little more than bare living expenses. Today, he finds himself trying to comprehend a world of increasing change and unpredictability. “I don’t know what to count on anymore,” he said. “I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen next.”

Major life transitions can include marriage, divorce, having children, moving, changing jobs, losing a job, job hunting, taking a new job, the death of a loved one, having a child leave home, caring for aging parents, and illness – one’s own or that of loved ones. All can be daunting and difficult, and at worst, destructive.

Coping with changes

The first good advice I ever heard on coping with transitions came my way years ago when I was trying to adjust to a new job with a publisher in San Francisco.

I’d been on the job three weeks when a female acquaintance who worked in a nearby office asked how I was doing with it. “Not so good,” I said. “It’s extremely busy, and I can’t seem to find a groove with it. It really worries me. I’m thinking maybe I’m not up to it.”

“That’s normal,” she said as calmly as could be. “Any time you change jobs, your energy field changes.”

I decided not to tell her how truly fearful I was of losing the job. “What do you mean, energy field?” I asked.

“Your energy field is your distribution of energies,” she said. “You’re only comfortable with a job when a lot of what you have to do is on the sub-autonomic level. That’s where you do things automatically, without having to consciously think about them. When you start a new job, the unconscious mechanisms and strategies you formed on the old job are useless, and that makes you feel helpless.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“Then on the new job, you have to think about everything on the conscious level, like where you’re going to put the paper clips and the stapler, who the people you work with are and where they are and what they do, and which of the ways to do certain things are the most efficient. That all takes time and energy, and the uncertainty of it creates anxiety and fear. Eventually, though, the strategies that work will become part of your unconscious. You’ll find yourself doing them without thinking. You’ll reclaim all that energy and be more comfortable and confident. The trick is to not come undone before that happens, but to understand and accept that your energy field is changing. It’s a process, and it’s natural, and it will happen. You just have to get out of the way and let the process happen. That’s all,” she said.

I believed her. I stopped fretting about what I was seeing as my myriad shortcomings on the job and, in her words, “let the process happen.” And it did, and in time the job worked out beautifully.

I still remember her name. Linda Turner. I’ve no idea where she is or what happened to her, but I certainly owe her a huge debt for giving me a conceptual framework that’s helped me enormously throughout my life.

Frank Shipe is a freelance writer and editor.