life transition guidance
How to navigate life migration
Every year, millions of birds fly thousands of miles between two homes.
They leave the place that was perfect for summer. They haven’t arrived at the place that will be perfect for winter.
They’re in between. Neither here nor there. Not in the old life, not yet in the new one.
This is called migration. In nature, it’s understood as necessary.
In humans, we call it a crisis. The Transition guidance
You’re in Migration
Maybe:
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- You left the job but haven’t found the new one
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- You ended the relationship but haven’t met your person yet
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- You outgrew who you were but don’t know who you’re becoming
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- You walked away from the first mountain but can’t see the second one yet
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- You know the old life doesn’t fit anymore but the new life hasn’t formed
You’re not lost. You’re migrating.
But God, it feels like falling.
What No One Tells You About Transition
The books about change always show you two things:
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- The BEFORE (where you were)
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- The AFTER (where you’re going)
They skip the BETWEEN. Because the between is uncomfortable to look at.
The between is:
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- Uncertainty that lasts longer than you thought possible
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- Days where you question if you made a terrible mistake
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- Nights where you miss the old life even though it was killing you
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- Moments of clarity followed by weeks of confusion
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- Progress that looks like going backwards
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- Transformation that feels like falling apart
The caterpillar doesn’t BECOME a butterfly. It dissolves into goo first.
You’re the goo. And it’s supposed to feel like this.
The Three Stages of Migration (Where You Probably Are)
Stage 1: The Departure
You left. Or were forced to leave. Or woke up one day and couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
This stage feels like: Relief mixed with terror. Freedom mixed with “oh God what did I just do?”
The old life is behind you. You can’t go back (you tried, it doesn’t fit anymore). But forward is fog.
What you need: Trust that leaving was right, even if the landing isn’t clear yet.
Stage 2: The Crossing (You’re probably here)
You’re in the space between. Not in the old identity, not in the new one.
Who you were: dissolved
Who you’re becoming: unclear
Where you are: nowhere and everywhere
This stage feels like: Free-falling. Groundless. Like you’re doing everything wrong because there’s no map.
People ask “What are you doing now?” and you don’t have an answer that makes sense.
What you need: Permission to not know. To be in process. To trust the crossing even when it feels like drowning.
This is the stage where most people panic and try to rush back to SOMETHING, ANYTHING that feels solid.
Don’t. The crossing takes as long as it takes.
Stage 3: The Arrival
You land. Not where you planned, usually. Somewhere better, often. Different, always.
The new life starts to form. The new identity starts to fit.
This stage feels like: Coming home to a place you’ve never been. Recognition without familiarity.
What you need: Willingness to be surprised by who you became.
Most people never reach this stage. Because they turn around in Stage 2.
Why Migration Is So Hard for Humans
Birds migrate in flocks. They have other birds who are also in transition.
You’re probably migrating alone.
Everyone else is settled. They have answers. They know who they are and what they’re doing.
And you’re out here in the fog, trying to explain why you left a perfectly good life to search for something you can’t even name.
They think you’re lost. You’re actually migrating.
There’s a difference.
Lost people don’t know where they’re going and wish they did.
Migrating people know the old place doesn’t work anymore and trust that the new place will reveal itself.
What To Do When You’re in the Between
This isn’t a fix-it list. Migration can’t be fixed or rushed. But it can be navigated.
1. Stop trying to arrive early
You can’t speed this up. The goo stage takes as long as it takes.
Trying to force arrival just makes you grab onto the wrong life because you’re desperate for ANY life.
Let the between be the between.
2. Find your migration flock
You need people who understand that you’re in transition, not lost.
Not people who give advice. Not people who need you to have it figured out.
People who can say: “Yeah, the between is brutal. Keep flying.”
The Grey Hour gatherings exist for this reason. Migration needs witnesses.
3. Document the crossing
Write. Journal. Voice notes. Something.
Not to figure it out. To mark where you are.
One day, you’ll look back at the migration and barely remember how hard it was. The documentation reminds you: You survived the crossing.
4. Trust the instinct that got you here
You left for a reason. Even if you can’t remember it clearly right now.
The part of you that said “I can’t stay there anymore” was RIGHT.
Even if the between is harder than you thought.
Even if people judge you for leaving.
Even if you don’t know where you’re going yet.
You left because staying was dying. Remember that when the between gets heavy.
5. Watch for green
Migratory birds don’t fly blind. They follow cues: coastlines, stars, magnetic fields.
What are your cues?
The conversation that felt electric while everything else feels flat?
The project that makes you lose track of time?
The people who see the you that’s emerging, not just the you that dissolved?
The moments where the fog clears just enough to take the next step?
You don’t need the whole map. Just the next landmark.
What Migration Taught Me
I migrated at 47. From businessman to… something I couldn’t name yet.
The crossing took three years.
Three years of:
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- “So what do you do now?” (I don’t know)
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- “When will you get back to normal?” (Never, hopefully)
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- “Aren’t you worried about money?” (Terrified, actually)
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- “Don’t you miss the old life?” (Yes and no and it’s complicated)
I almost turned back a hundred times. The between was brutal.
But I’m 53 now, and I’m writing this. The Grey Hour exists. This teaching exists. The new life formed.
It wasn’t the life I planned. It’s better. Because it’s MINE.
Not built to impress anyone. Not built to prove anything. Built to fit who I actually am.
That life could only form in the between. Not before. Not by forcing. By migrating.
For Your Transition
If you’re in the between right now:
You’re not doing it wrong.
You’re not taking too long.
You’re not lost.
You’re migrating.
The old life doesn’t fit anymore. The new life hasn’t formed yet.
This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Even though it feels like nowhere.
The Question the Birds Don’t Ask
You know what migratory birds don’t do during the crossing?
They don’t stop mid-flight and ask: “Am I sure about this?”
They left because the seasons changed. They’re flying because that’s what migration requires.
They trust the instinct that got them in the air.
You left because your season changed. You’re crossing because that’s what transformation requires.
Can you trust the instinct that got you here?
Not blind trust. Not “everything happens for a reason” trust.
Just: “I left for a reason, and that reason was valid, even if the between is harder than I thought.”
The Arrival You Can’t Plan
Here’s what I know about migration:
You won’t arrive where you planned. You’ll arrive where you need to be.
The birds don’t choose the destination based on pictures they saw. They choose based on what their bodies know they need.
Your arrival won’t look like what you imagined when you left.
It’ll be stranger. More specific. More YOURS.
But only if you don’t turn around in the between.
The grey hour is the between. The crossing. The migration. Welcome to the flock.
—Nizar Al Haddad
Extra Reading:
https://thegreyhour.com/the-night-rumi-lost-everything-sufi-wisdom-for-when-life-falls-apart/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Conference_of_the_Birds
Keywords: life transition guidance, between lives spiritually, life transition wisdom, metamorphosis midlife, spiritual liminal space, between old and new life, navigating major life change, ife migration metaphor, transformation during transition, stuck between lives, leaving old life behind
woow, love this
This met me right in the middle of this season I’m in. I’ve been walking through that long, quiet middle where everything familiar has fallen away, where I am living the questions and this naming of it as migration felt like a hand on my back, steadying me, thank you. It reminded me that the grief and the uncertainty are part of the passage, and that even when it feels like I’m dissolving, I’m still being carried by instinct, by trust, by something older and wiser than fear.
I started reading your blog… and I must say it’s absolutely beautiful… here you talk about migration and grey times, and that’s exactly what’s happening to me… something that’s difficult to talk about and even understand first-hand. So thank you for writing about it… it’s really valuable. Thank you so much.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my blog and for sharing this with me. It means more than you know that these words on migration and grey times resonated with you, especially during a moment when you’re living through it yourself. These transitions are so difficult to articulate—even to ourselves—and often we move through them feeling utterly alone in the experience. Please know that what you’re feeling is real, valid, and shared by many who walk similar paths. The grey times don’t last forever, though I know that’s hard to believe when you’re inside them. I’m honored that my words could offer some companionship during this passage. If you ever need to talk more about what you’re experiencing, I’m here. Wishing you gentleness as you navigate this transition.