Quotes About Transition

The people in my life were like the BandAids that had blown away in the desert wind that first day on the trail. They scattered and then they were gone.

Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.

I was twenty-two, the same age she was when she'd been pregnant with me. She was going to leave my life at the same moment that I came into hers, I thought.

My love for him was indisputable, but my allegiance to him wasn't. We were no longer married, and as I settled alongside the Three Young Bucks into the bed I used to share with Paul, I felt a kind of acceptance of that, a kind of clarity where there'd been so much uncertainty.

This is not "how your story ends". It's simply where it take a turn you didn't expect.

them. I looked at the place I'd come from and the place I was going, the two equidistant from me. I was too far from either, so I forced my way forward.

was there in '63, when I was barely eighteen. But now

But the thing was, I didn't want it. Maybe I never really had. I'd finally come to understand what it had been: a yearning for a way out, when actually what I had wanted to find was a way in. I was there now. Or close.

I grew up and left home for college in the Twin Cities at a school called St. Thomas,

I was entering. I was leaving. California streamed behind me like a long silk veil. I didn't feel like a big fat idiot anymore. And I didn't feel like a hard-ass motherfucking Amazonian queen. I felt fierce and humble and gathered up inside, like I was safe in this world too.

She would always be my mother, I told her, but I had to go. She wasn't there for me in that flowerbed anymore anyway, I explained. I'd put her somewhere else. The only place I could reach her. In me.

These things are your becoming.

If it is impossible for you to go on as you were before, so you must go on as you never have.

There was the woman I was before my mom died and the one I was now, my old life sitting on the surface of me like a bruise. The real me was beneath that, pulsing under all the things I used to think I knew.

was who I was: the same woman who pulsed beneath the bruise of her old life, only now I was somewhere else.

I looked north, in its direction—the very thought of that bridge a beacon to me. I looked south, to where I'd been, to the wild land that had schooled and scorched me, and considered my options. There was only one, I knew. There was always only one. To keep walking.

This is not how your story ends. It's simply where it takes a turn you didn't expect.

I'd finally come to understand what it had been: a yearning for a way out, when actually what I had wanted to find was a way in. I was there now. Or close.

I could only choose between the bull that would take me back and the bull that would take me forward. And so I walked on.

I was intrigued. I was unattached. In my youth and sorrow, I was ready to self-destruct. So

It seemed as alive in its dying as a hive of bees was in its life.

Yo era quien era: la misma mujer que palpitaba bajo el moretón de su antigua vida; solo que ahora estaba en otro sitio.

For some of you, those things have already happened.

He recalled what Lyndon Johnson had said when Kennedy was assassinated and Johnson suddenly found himself president. Words to the effect that he would do the best he could do, because that was all he could do.