Learning to build the bridge during life’s unexpected transitions
At some point in your career, something strange happens.
People start coming to you for the answers.
At first it surprises you.
And then one day you find yourself wondering:
How did I become the go-to person?
I remember noticing it more than once during my nursing career. One day you’re the person asking questions, trying to figure out how things work. Then gradually, without any formal announcement, the roles reverse. Someone new arrives, and suddenly they’re looking to you for guidance.
I’ve thought about that moment many times over the course of my career.
Because during a career, most of us become novices more than once. We move into new roles, take on different responsibilities, or step into unfamiliar environments where we suddenly have to learn all over again.
Starting over requires humility, patience, and a willingness to admit that we don’t yet know everything we need to know.
It’s much easier when someone runs the race beside you—someone who answers questions, shares their experience, and helps you find your footing.
Eventually, almost without noticing, you begin to understand how things work.
And then something else shifts.
What once felt like shared problem-solving gradually becomes people turning to you for guidance.
Somewhere along the way, you’ve become the experienced one.
Over time I began to think of that moment like a relay race.
Someone ahead of me had been carrying the baton for a long stretch. I ran beside them for a while, learning the pace of the race and understanding the terrain.
And somewhere along the way, the baton was passed—even though I don’t remember reaching out my hand for it.
Most transitions happen this way. Gradually. Naturally. With someone nearby to guide the way.
But sometimes life doesn’t work that way.
Sometimes the baton isn’t passed.
Sometimes it’s dropped.
Sometimes you realize you’re already running and you’re not even sure where the baton went.
And sometimes the transition has nothing to do with work at all.
Illness. Caregiving. Family changes. Retirement. Unexpected loss.
Any one of these can suddenly place us in unfamiliar territory.
This is often where people struggle the most—because the change isn’t just happening in their work life.
It reaches deeper.
It touches the fabric of who they are.
In those moments there may be no mentor nearby, no instructions, and no obvious next step.
So we start searching.
We ask questions where we can. We read. We listen. We experiment. Sometimes we follow paths that turn out to be wrong and it feels like we’ve wasted time.
But often we were learning more than we realized.
The road isn’t straight.
It winds. It doubles back. It takes turns we didn’t expect.
And somewhere along that winding path we slowly begin to piece together the understanding and confidence we thought we were missing.
Recently I read an article about writing transitions that gave me another way to think about this.
Good writers don’t simply jump from Point A to Point B in a story. If they do, readers become confused. Eventually they may stop reading.
The solution, the author explained, is connective tissue.
Connective tissue is the language writers use to build bridges between ideas, places, times, or perspectives. It guides the reader from here…to there.
That idea stayed with me.
Because it struck me that life transitions may require the same thing.
When the baton is missing, we build the bridge ourselves.
We create the connective tissue that helps our story make sense again.
And eventually—often without realizing exactly when it happened—we find ourselves moving forward again.
Still in the race.
Still learning.
Still becoming the person someone else might one day turn to for guidance.
For many of us, retirement becomes one of those transitions too. After years of experience and a clear role in the world, we may suddenly find ourselves novices again—figuring out what the next chapter will look like.
And perhaps that is simply another stretch of the race.
This reflection was inspired by Seth Harwood’s discussion of “connective tissue” in writing, which I came across in a guest post featured in Jane Friedman’s newsletter.