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Talula climbing the gate, hoping to get to the Carrousel. 

The other night at the pumpkin patch, I was reminded just how challenging transitions can be—especially for my two-year-old daughter, Talula. We were there with my parents, and as soon as Talula spotted the merry-go-round, her eyes lit up with excitement. She absolutely had to go on it. 

But there was a line, and when I told her we had to wait our turn, she didn’t take it well. Each time the merry-go-round started up without her, she threw a fit of flailing arms and desperate screams, trying to make sense of why she wasn’t on it yet. 

At one point, she even made a break for it, trying to squeeze through an opening in the gate, only for my mom to gently stop her and say, “no.” She sobbed and screamed, but she listened.

"Why is it going without me?"

Then, finally, her turn came. As the merry-go-round spun her around, she glowed with pure joy, grinning from ear to ear. It was everything she had hoped for. 

So happy to be on the Carrousel. 

But then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. And as I lifted her off so the next children could have their turn, she wasn’t ready to let go of the moment. The biggest fit of the evening erupted, as if the end of the ride was the end of the world.

It felt like a small victory when we managed to calm her down with a tiny cup of Italian ice and the promise of picking her own pumpkin. With a spoonful of sweetness and the thrill of choosing her first pumpkin on her own, the evening took a new turn. 

Her first time picking her own pumpkin!

Her earlier disappointment melted away as she embraced these new experiences. What began as a heartbreaking transition ended up being a gateway to more moments of joy.

That night made me reflect on how we all handle transitions—not just toddlers, but adults, too. How often do we find ourselves eagerly anticipating something new, only to feel lost when it ends or when we have to change direction? 

It struck me that life is full of little merry-go-rounds: moments we eagerly wait for, that thrill us while they last, and that end far sooner than we’re prepared for. And yet, just like my daughter found solace in Italian ice and a pumpkin, there’s always something new waiting for us—if we’re willing to let go of what’s just ended and open ourselves up to it.

As a parent, I’ve become acutely aware of my own struggles with transitions. I have a hard time getting deeply involved in an activity without feeling the pull to switch to something else—whether it’s checking my phone, answering emails, or tackling the next task on my to-do list. 

Meanwhile, my daughter immerses herself completely in the moment, whether she’s running her hands under the kitchen faucet for minutes on end or getting lost in the thrill of a merry-go-round. She is present in a way that I, and many adults I know, struggle to be. I can’t help but wonder if our past- and future-focused mindset is a learned behavior that pulls us away from experiencing the present.

Growing up, we’re taught to plan for the future and dwell on (i.e., "learn from") past mistakes. Over time, these messages become part of our inner voice, and we lose sight of the only time we really have—the here and now. Watching my daughter fully engage in her play has shown me how important it is to create space for transitions in our lives.

Yet, in our adult world, the rapid pace of life often leaves little room for transitions. I frequently expect myself to be able to switch tasks seamlessly, jumping from writing lesson plans to cooking dinner, from responding to text messages to chasing after my daughter. When I don’t allow myself the time to properly transition between activities, I feel burnt out. My brain craves a pause, and if I deny it, it often compensates by turning to mindless distractions, like doom-scrolling on social media or ruminating on everything I could be doing instead.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from parenting, it’s that transitions matter—both for children and for adults. Just as giving my daughter a “five-minute warning” before leaving the playground can help her process the end of one activity and brace for the next, creating deliberate transitions in our adult lives can help us manage the flow of tasks and emotions. It’s a strategy that parenting experts often recommend, and it’s a simple concept that has real power.

When I allow my daughter a few moments to adjust, I see a dramatic difference in her ability to cope with the end of an enjoyable activity. Even if she isn’t thrilled about it, she can handle it much better than when I try to make abrupt changes. In essence, by giving her the time and space to transition, I’m teaching her to respond thoughtfully rather than react impulsively—something that we, as adults, can benefit from too.

Source: Quotefancy.com

Bob Proctor talks about this in his book, Change Your Paradigm, Change Your Life, in terms of responding versus reacting: when we react, we allow external events to control our inner world, leading us to act on impulse. When we respond, however, we create a pause between the external event and our internal reaction, allowing for thoughtful consideration. That’s exactly what transitions do—they give us time to pause, reflect, and prepare ourselves for what comes next.

So, how can we apply this idea of transitions in our own lives? It doesn’t have to mean scheduling extra time between activities just to fill it with mindless trivia or worries. Instead, we can use that time to clear our minds and reset our focus. 

Maxwell Maltz, in Psycho-Cybernetics, suggests imagining a “decompression chamber”—a quiet mental space where we can go to release the residual stress from one activity before starting another. This practice of consciously “clearing” our minds helps us avoid carrying over tension and emotions from one situation to the next.

Imagine building a calming room in your mind, furnished with things that bring you peace, and retreating into it for a minute or two between tasks. Just as I saw my daughter regain her composure at the pumpkin patch, we, too, can regain our balance if we give ourselves the time to process and prepare. 

Try creating your own mental decompression chamber and see how it affects your ability to transition between activities. You might find that, like my daughter, the end of one ride is just the beginning of the next adventure.

The fam at the end of the night. :)