Like them or not, when the wonderful Sam Cooke used to sing, “a change is gonna come,” he was so right.
As I write, nature is on the verge of its quarterly transition of seasons. Fall is on its way. The days are quickly getting shorter; morning skies are dark at six. The huge tree outside my front window is shedding and the ground is crunchy with its fallen leaves. There’s a chill in the air around five o’clock, and I need a jacket for my evening walk.
My lovely mother turns 90 in October. She’s mentally strong, alert and still drives. A bit weakened by arthritis, she’s frustrated with doctors and the rising cost of medication. I’m blessed to have her in my life, yet I feel the topsy-turvy change in our roles coming on.
I’ve got two novels “under my belt.” Two books completed, published, on the street, in the stores, online, in readers’ hands. I’m revving up for the next one. Number three. Wow. Eight years ago, I knew there would be more. It’s like, no it is, starting from scratch. The change is that I have a better idea of how to get to where I’m going.
At the risk of sounding clichéd, life is a series of transitions. Change. In writing, transition can be a bridge that gently allows a reader to cross from one thought to the next. In the real world, transitions are the big and little shifts that make life what it is. It’s hard to write about transitions in such a public place. It’s not really the space to bear one’s soul or use as a replacement for therapy. But maybe, that’s a transition in and of itself—finally coming to understanding and learning to move on.
Jacqueline Luckett is the author of Passing Love and Searching for Tina Turner.