Want to Ditch Your Old Life?

Some Lessons From My Two-Night Stand in Fort Collins, Colorado

My recent move to Fort Collins, Colorado has felt like a new pair of shoes: exciting, a tad uncomfortable, and somewhat cuckoo. And then again, I have been nomadic, living out of Airbnbs for the good part of 12 years. So it begs the question, “where was I really relocating from?” 

So here I am, having traded in my wandering ways for a new permanent landing point, based on just a two night stay—a decision as impulsive as using a broken compass on a treasure hunt. This hasn’t been just a change of scenery; it was a shedding of old skin, or in my case, the battered soles of my favorite sneakers.

Speaking of sneakers, have you ever clung to a pair way past their expiration date? The ones with the soles flapping like a loose tongue at a family reunion, holes so big you could smuggle acorns? They’re comfortable, familiar, and stubbornly stuck to my feet despite their screams for retirement. 

Oh how we cling to the old and familiar. It's not the shoe itself, but the comfort of the known path it treads—comfort that often shackles us to the past.

My old life was comfortable, yet as the I Ching—ancient Chinese oracle and proverbial wise uncle—reminds us, “When the way comes to an end, change—having changed, you pass through.” 

Philosophically, I was ready for a change, but practically? That’s another story. Fort Collins was my new beginning, though it felt more like an awkward middle. I was smack dab in what Bill Bridges in his seminal book, “Transitions,” calls the Neutral Zone: a limbo where the old hasn’t quite left and the new hasn’t fully settled in. 

Bridges describes transitions as a three-act play: Endings, the Neutral Zone, and New Beginnings. 

The Endings are never just the curtain closing; they're more about the scene setting for what's next. Yet, how often do we see an ending as just an ending? As much as I wanted to leap into the new, part of me mourned the familiar Friday nights, the same old coffee order, the predictable, comforting cycle of everyday life. I had to learn, as Bridges says, that endings are not the apocalypse, but a prelude.

The Neutral Zone, as I lived it, was filled with second-guessing. Was trading my urban existence for mountain views and microbreweries a mid-life crisis or a genuine quest for renewal? This zone, according to Bridges, isn’t just about disconnecting from the past but reorienting towards the future. Imagine standing in a bustling street of your old city, then suddenly finding yourself on a quiet mountain trail. Disorienting? Absolutely. But also a space ripe with potential.

By the time I embraced New Beginnings, I had shed not only my old sneakers but my old skin of skepticism and routine. The new doesn't just arrive; it's built from the remnants of the past, constructed with the insights gained in that disorienting Neutral Zone. Like the I Ching suggests, “To persevere is favorable.” And persevere I did, through doubts and the awkwardness of new neighbors and unfamiliar streets.

Fort Collins, with its promise of new adventures, represents for me a testament to embracing the unknown. The move has come with a flurry of changes, each thread pulling me away from comfort and into growth. This transition is not about finding another worn path but creating a new one, with all its potential pitfalls and promises.

Reflecting on this journey through the lens of the I Ching and Bridges’ “Transitions,” it's clear that our lives are not static. They are vibrant stories of endings, middles, and beginnings. Each step, whether into a worn-out sneaker or onto a new trail, is a step toward transformation. Embracing change isn’t just about moving locations or changing circumstances; it’s about evolving internally, learning to let go of the old soles (and souls) to make room for the new.

So, here’s to Fort Collins, to new shoes, and to the brave, sometimes ludicrous leaps that define our transitions. And here’s to the old that taught us comfort and the new that teaches us courage. After all, isn’t life about finding the right fit, one shoe—or city—at a time?

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