I’d like a happy box of easy adjustment to-go, please.

My mom and I were talking about transitions the other day. About how long it really takes our brains, not to mention our emotions, to fully adjust to a transition in life.

It can take the brain a year to adjust to a new situation or circumstance. Emotions can take longer. So, especially in our culture fast food, drive-up pharmacies, high-speed internet and even “Family Fun in Only 20 Minutes” games (where Monopoly is compressed into a 15-20 minute period), it almost seems ridiculous that a process could take a year…or more.

A year!

That’s a whole lot longer than 20 minutes.

What must our brains do when there are stretches of life filled with constant changes? Surely it happens more often than not that “normal” life simply means the unexpected will most certainly take place: deaths of loved one, moves, unexpected health problems, births, mental illness, divorce, career shifts, and marriage. In every instance, change, perhaps unexpectedly, resembles a grieving process. The very definition of transition involves losing something and moving on to something new. Sometimes maybe our brains are working so hard to accept and assimilate the new circumstance or situation, that the grieving is postponed. Other times, perhaps, the mourning of that which is lost takes over, preventing the brain from immediately figuring out how to live in the new situation.

Over the past few days it has been gloriously cool and rainy here in Texas – definitely a welcome respite from the dry, broiling temperatures we’ve endured this summer. All the darkness, the constant rain, and even the cooler temperatures (OK, not exactly as cool as it would be most of the time in the Netherlands) have reminded me so much of Amsterdam. Feelings and memories are flooding me, and I began wondering why our adventure in Amsterdam still seems so close. Why am I still grieving the move? After all, it’s been a year and a half.

I realize now that, even though my brain is fully caught up with life here in the U.S., perhaps part of me, my emotional part, is still transitioning. I no longer think it strange to drive around when I run errands. This place I live is my home again. I am accustomed to attending my church, seeing American friends, and acting and speaking like an American without second-guessing myself. But on days like today, when it’s rainy, cloudy, and cool, I almost feel a little sad thinking about our home in Amsterdam, what the view from our large windows looked like on a day like today, the way my office looked, the people I worked with in the Netherlands, even how miserable it was riding around on my bike in the rain.

Maybe that time in Amsterdam was so concentrated and strangely rich and painful all at once that certain things like rainy days, cool temperatures, riding a bike, and eating cheese will always, always remind me of living in Europe.

I am just now starting to think I can move on to the next adventure, make big decisions, and plan for the future again. Even though it seems like my life should be perfectly put back together by now, that I should be adjusted and happy all the time after being back a year and a half, I have to remind myself that transitions and adjustments do not come in the to-go variety.

If they did, I would have ordered some up about a year ago.