The Shift

How you know when it's time to shift

We are all talking a lot about aging. I’m hearing more about “it” now than at any other time in my life. Is it because of national leaders, seemingly now, too old to lead? Or is it because I’m entering a new platform and decade and status in my on shift of time? My 70th birthday is next week!

We are witnesses to aging world class leaders fumble, stumble and grumble. They speak of golf handicaps not peace in the world. It’s confusing and trust me, it is confusing for them—it has to be. I speak as one who is right behind them in chronology.

I saw a shift happen in our family this past July 4^th holiday. We had our sons and spouses and grand kids all with us for a week. We hiked the mountains. We biked. We swam in the rivers. We tubed. We threw rocks in the river and picnicked under giant oaks along the banks of the river. It was all glorious.

Then, the shift happened.

When it came the day to ride bikes, I saw the shift unfold—right before my eyes. I exchanged my seat—not on a bike—but more importantly—my seat in the family—perhaps my seat at the table and more—my seat in the world.  Our son organized a biking adventure. All of us—all eighteen of us on bikes would pedal our way on a beautiful shaded bike trail. But I was—all of a sudden, not the one in charge; not the one giving directions; not the one getting us in order; not the one instructing.

A son rose up and did that and in his rising up, I seemed to take a new place in the order of things and in the order of life. It wasn’t a coup d’état.  It wasn’t an intervention. It wasn’t mean spirited.  It just seemed—well, what is the word?  It seemed “right”. It seemed “time.” It seemed like a shift of time. Somehow, on that bike ride and as it was happening, I had my wits about me and I witnessed this shift—like a tide shifting with one final wave hitting the shore announcing a new order—a new season—a new tidal sequence is happening. This son rose up and I took my new place—a  place I knew was coming. I had sensed hints in the air—perhaps I overheard conversations about me in the corners. I’m not sure. But the shift happened.

I didn’t light the fireworks on July 4th—a younger human did.

I didn’t plan the day’s events—a younger human did.

I didn’t call us all together and announce some breaking news—a younger person did that as well.

But, I did shift.

I shifted.

I’ve spent the last ten years of my life shifting. I say ten years, because that’s how long I’ve been conscious of a shift that was going to happen—whether I liked it or not.

I’m not here to say I’ve shifted well in all ways we shift in our lives; or that I’ve shifted great in all the right ways. But, the truth is, I’ve shifted. I’m seeing myself shift and I don’t think I’m done with shifting. Let me try to explain. Bear with me.

When I sort this through with Gwen and  a couple of friends I trust, I use the word, “diminished.”  My shift in the family—in the work world—in the influence I once had—has, well, “diminished.”  I can fight it. I can hate it. I can accept it. It seems to be my choice in how I handle this shift.  But then there is this:  in this diminished state, there is a beauty that I can see glimmers of—a beauty in letting go; a beauty in watching others rise up; a beauty in accepting the natural order of life and the cycles we all experience in our lives over time and over one’s own life time.

Some folks never seem to shift. They seem to hang on too long. They see their position as a  permanent fixture to their own legacy. Maybe it’s hard to let go. I get that. But sometimes, a shift happens and you— well,—you just don’t seem to have a choice. The shift requires a letting go. It requires a shift—a shift that you know is going to happen. Why? Because every human being—in fact, ever living thing must shift. We all shift.

Shift happens!

What began to shift me was two primary  events: First, I turned 60 ten years ago. With that turning came an immediate awareness that my time ahead is short. For whatever reason, my 60^th birthday allowed me to rise up and see the winding way down the hill.  This shift, at it’s core requires an acceptance of this one big lie in life: I am what I do.  When one accepts that one’s identity is not in performance, then there can be a growing sense of inner peace, grace and love. No human being is what they do. We are human beings—not human doings, as everyone knows. The shift seems to start with embracing this truth.

Secondly in my 60^th year of life, I spent a year with a Catholic priest being led in an ancient retreat called the “Ignatian Exercises.” I met every week for a time of reflecting, evaluation, prayer and discernment. I highly and strongly recommend this when led by a trained, experienced and seasoned guide. Out of this valuable and significant time came an awareness for me; for Gwen and me; for the organization that I founded and built—Potter’s Inn—that we all needed to get ready for me to “age” into a new season of life that would bring change not only for me, but for my staff; my organization and my family.

Much happened in light of that year long season of discernment. We began to release our staff into their own work; we sold our beloved retreat; our Board began to birth new initiatives and re-structured our entire work to be an online resource platform with a podcast that grew to reach people in 80 countries with the message of soul care. At the same time, I felt the primal pull to return to my roots in North Carolina and we planned a huge continental move and shift for us to begin to retire.

I circled myself with the Board of our ministry and close friends and began to redesign and re-set my life and my life’s work. If you’ve been following me in my writing on blogs, books and now Substack, I’ve been public about this shift. My blog about “repositioning” vs. “retiring” is the most read article of anything I’ve ever written.

(Here’s the cover of the book I never published.)

I even felt a book would be birthed about it all—but I quickly realized that it was me who needed to learn how to bow out and bow low. That book will never be published because there are still chapters to be written as I shift now into another decade of life and see even more changes ahead. I think my life—perhaps all of our lives need a sort of GPS for the soul. But I am not the one to write it because I am still shifting. I’m still discerning. I’m still learning valuable lessons.

What I discovered is very, very, very few men and women around me were talking about what I was facing. Rather than transitioning and accepting change and shifting, some folks seemed to hold tighter to the reigns rather than letting the power and position go. Some always wanted to build even though the old wisdom book frankly says that there is a time to build and a time to tear down. We can’t always build.  I spoke about this freely—encouraging aging companions to join me in the transition of influence and legacy---but my walk was a lonely walk in this regard—mostly unaccompanied and mostly alone. Perhaps, my walk is my walk and not for anyone else. I can accept that. It’s my walk. It’s my shift. But I also think that shifting is what makes us human and perhaps what helps keep us alive and growing.

But, what I am discovering is this: in acceptance, there is peace. I am not the first to write that line. I believe Amy Carmichael wrote it first after accepting her life from a wheel chair—not walking the world on foot. But it’s more than a line—it is a maxim for peace and a truth for letting go when shifting.

What is hard to accept is watching leaders hold on far too long. We see this phenomenon so often in pulpits and Board rooms; in doctor’s offices and small businesses.  People hold on too long. People find it hard to shift.

There is a strange beauty in the passing of a season and on the bike ride with my grand kids and their parents, I saw this beauty. I had enough awareness to recognize that a shift was needed and it was now time for another voice to speak; another voice to speak and another leader to emerge. I sort of became a kid—sort of became another human being in the bike ride of life. When I accepted this, then the bike ride became even more fun. I know it sounds strange but it is true.

Last night, I went to see the American folk singer, Judy Collins in concert. She is now 85 years old. She stood on stage for 90 minutes singing her well known and beloved ballads. She told a few bad jokes-- we all laughed. She forgot a few lines of her songs and I noticed her looking at the sheet music rather than singing from her heart. It was as if I was seeing this iconic, beautiful and gifted woman, perform but perform in a different way now—but at the same time know that she was there to create a moment in our memory of what her songs, lyrics and tune did to our soul in the 60’s and 70’s.  She sang—but in a different way. She led, but in a different way. She showed us beauty in accepting one’s age and place in life. “the good old days.” And we did. It was marvelous.

Judy Collins inspired me as the bike ride did with my grand kids. It was fun. It was thrilling. It was amazing. But it was another parable unfolding for me—right before my eyes: Accept the shift when it comes. Bow low and and let someone else rise up.

Perhaps, if we don’t move out and away and let go, other’s can not find the space to stand up and led.

Let others lead.

In acceptance, there can be peace.

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So, I’ve written a poem about this shift. Poetry is helping me say more but in using less words. I have to think about the lines—make them fit; make them like a bucket holding the right amount of words and water for the soul. See what you think about this one. I like it. I like it because this poem is where I’m at right now. It describes a living parable I was invited to “see” on my bike ride with my family.

I talk about an “alteration” of my world because a shift happened.

I describe my own “moment of epiphany” in seeing the shift happen around me and in me.

It’s poem about life. It’s a poem about aging. It’s a poem about taking one’s place in the circle of life.

I’d love your thoughts on this. Is there a line or phrase that seems to strike a note within you?

Is this a keeper?

I’d love your comments here, please!

I like the way I ended the poem, “I’m good with it—for now.” Because it’s true…the for now piece. For now, I’m good with it but I’m also aware of the tension inside to let go and go with the shift. For now, I’m good with it—till I’m not.