Oh, how everything can change In such a small time frame You can be remade You can live again What was pain now's gain A new path gets laid And you know what is great Nothing stays the same ~ Bon Iver, Awards Season
Something I am fond of sharing, wrongly or rightly (context matters), is that some events in life are allowed to be meaningless. Not everything needs to be a lesson that forces you to grow or change in some way (yes, even highly emotive events can just be emotive without changing the trajectory of your life).
People tend to respond to this personal philosophy of mine in two ways. The first camp have a moment of realisation, a weight lifting from the shoulders, as all the shit they’ve been struggling to ‘learn’ from is let go. Life is allowed to be simple, and when we give ourselves the grace to let it be that way, we find infinitely more paths forward than if we spend our free time battling that inexplicable break-up from our twenties (what did I learn? Nothing new. Or certainly, nothing worth staying stuck on. And that’s okay).
The second camp? These are the ones that never call me again (I joke). These tend to be the ones that claim ‘every’ moment is a teaching moment, that every experience is an opportunity to learn something new about ourselves and the world. I’m not saying I completely disagree with this stance; I just think it’s a bit exhausting. Every moment is a teaching moment? Every experience? I’m tired just trying to get through a regular day without dedicating mental energy to unpacking what ‘every’ moment is teaching me.
This is to say, lovely a sentiment that it is, I think it’s unrealistic for most people.
It’s why I lean on the “allow yourself grace, let life be simple when it needs to be” idealogy. A fight with your lover about who didn’t make the bed is allowed to be a fight about who didn’t make the bed, and not some grandiose assassination of their place in your life and laziness in the world (again, exhausting). Sometimes, these things are about something more, but most of the time, they’re not.
But—and here’s where I tread gently—it’s also worth considering the moments that do build toward something more significant. There's a balance to be found in what we do or do not turn our minds towards when seeking meaning (or not). While I might say that not every moment is a teaching moment, that doesn't mean we shouldn't still look for the right ones.
In his book Life is in the Transitions, Bruce Feiler explores this idea in a way that feels accessible rather than overwhelming.
He talks about what he refers to as ‘disrupters’—those small or medium-sized moments that might not feel transformative on their own. A disrupter could be as mundane as losing your keys or as aggravating as a tense work meeting. On their own, these moments might feel inconsequential or simply irritating. But over time, as they compound, they can lead to what Feiler calls ‘Lifequakes’.
We spend 25 years — or half of our adult lives — in transition. And make no mistake: These don’t clump exclusively in middle age. ~ Bruce Feiler
Lifequakes are those seismic shifts in our lives that force us to confront change. They can be sudden, like a health scare or job loss. Or they can be gradual, like the slow erosion of a relationship. Either way, they often signal a turning point, shaking us out of the ordinary and compelling us to reimagine what comes next.
Feiler talks about how lifequakes can shape our personal narratives to help break us out of faulty thinking. I like how he speaks to the power of narrative for our sense of self (anyone who knows me well will know how vehemently I hold to the narrative of experiences as being more critical than perhaps even the experience itself).
The story in your head shapes everything. It’s not just what you tell others—it’s the narrative you quietly repeat to yourself. Who you are, where you’ve been, where you’re headed—that’s your story.
And that story isn’t just part of you; it is you.
But what happens when the story gets derailed? When life throws unexpected twists—a crisis, a burnout, a global pandemic?
We’ve all been stuck in a messy chapter with no clear way forward, struggling to learn the lesson as it were, on how we might move past whatever the present barrier might be. Yet, as Feiler discovered, these disruptions—these lifequakes—aren’t the end of the story. They’re the turning points.
Feiler spent three years collecting hundreds of life stories across the U.S. and found something powerful: while the traditional idea of a linear life—one job, one relationship, one steady path—has long been the norm, it’s outdated and untrue.
While this news might not be new to most people (I've been shouting it from the rooftops my entire career), it's still the norm in many of our institutions to promote this mindset, especially with younger people. We're still beholden to the concept of "what are you going to do with your life?" and "what job do you want to pursue?" - a single-minded narrative.
The Linear Life is Dead
When I met with a new therapist recently, we began as most of these relationships do, with her exploring my current mindset, goals, thoughts about my lived experiences and past. One question she asked was whether I have any regrets. I thought on the question for a moment before landing on what feels like the only logical conclusion for me; that I can’t have regrets as every decision I’ve made as led me to where I am now - a place where I ultimately feel like I’m supposed to be, even if it has it’s imperfect moments.
Everything I’ve done, even the things I might wish I hadn't, and everything I've been has been a part of the journey to get me here.
I may have gone off on little side tangents from the ‘main plan’ for my life but here’s what I know: Life isn’t a straight path. The myth of a predictable trajectory—school, career, family, retirement—sets us up for disappointment when life doesn’t unfold as planned. And it rarely does.
If you had asked me in my twenties if I thought I’d be living at the end of the world in Tasmania, married (me? Married?!) with two dachshunds; that I’d swap my business dresses and heels for Blundstones and waterproofs, the London tube for cold swims and lungs filled with mountain air - I would have told you it sounded like a farfetched hippie fever dream. And not one this city-loving woman would ever find herself in.
And yet, here I am. Because that’s how life - and lifequakes - work. They lead us to the gloriously unexpected and unanticipated.
Transitions are More Frequent—and Messier—Than We Expect
Feiler found that we spend nearly half of our adult lives in transition.
Think about that: half.
Life transitions aren’t rare (and now you know about them, you'll likely start spotting disruptors and past quakes in your own life). Feiler shares that most of us experience three to five major lifequakes - periods of profound upheaval - throughout our lives.
These moments—whether sparked by loss, change, or choice—can feel overwhelming. We often expect lifequakes to follow some logical timeline, but they don’t. They happen when they happen, and they’re rarely convenient (this I can also vouch for).
These transitions are not a sign of failure. They’re a natural, if challenging, part of growth. Transitions are a skill and Feiler has identified three phases of significant transitions:
The long goodbye, where we grieve what we’re leaving behind.
The messy middle is a time of shedding old habits and exploring new possibilities.
The new beginning is when we emerge with clarity and purpose.
Feiler is quick to note that transitions are nonlinear, too. You might thrive in one phase and struggle in another. You might move forward and then find yourself stepping backwards. It’s all normal (remember; let go of the expectation of ‘how’ these things ‘should’ unfold and simply let them).
Practical Tips for Navigating Your Next Lifequake
My own recent fascination with lifequakes and transformations stems from reflections on what's next for me. My husband and I are approaching a decade together and we're hitting junctions in our shared life about what we should and want to be doing next - it leaves you with more questions than answers: How do we keep making something good better? What changes can or should we make for our lives? What do we need to be learning from in our past to build a more fulfilled and joyful future?
I'm also back studying and proactively working towards a significant career change for the second half of my professional life. Naturally, it's bringing up lots of imposter syndrome, thoughts of whether the change will be worthwhile, whether I will be any 'good' and more.
These aren't questions that can be answered in a single sitting. But they do require our attention, because these are the types of things that can lead to disruptors, that can lead to our next big lifequake.
If you’re facing a lifequake, Feiler offers five practical tools to help you through:
Start with Your Superpower
Lean into what you’re good at. Whether organising your thoughts, expressing your emotions, or tackling tasks head-on, build momentum by starting where you feel most capable.
Embrace the Emotions
Transitions are emotional—fear, sadness, shame, you name it. Don’t avoid these feelings; process them. Rituals, journaling, or even symbolic acts like a tattoo or skydiving can help.
Try Something New
The messy middle is fertile ground for creativity. Use this time to experiment, shed old routines, and explore new hobbies or perspectives.
Seek Wisdom from Others
Transitions can feel isolating, but you don’t have to navigate them alone. Reach out to friends, mentors, or even strangers. Be clear about the kind of support you need: comfort, advice, or a nudge forward.
Rewrite Your Story
Ultimately, transitions are about making meaning. They’re an opportunity to reframe your life narrative and find purpose in the chaos. Feiler shares:
"If you want the transition to end, let’s end the story by writing an ending that has an upbeat ending. Add a new chapter to your life story where something constructive comes out of the transition, even a difficult time. You can finally close that chapter. You control the story."
What makes lifequakes so interesting to me is the way they emerge. They’re rarely about a single, monumental event. Instead, they’re often a result of those disrupters building up, creating a ripple effect that eventually becomes a wave.
This perspective helps reconcile my philosophy with the idea that some moments are teaching moments, and it's vital we find ways to tune into which ones we need to pa attention to.
The number of changes we go through in life is quickening; the pace we’re going through them is faster and our breadth of life experiencing them is wider. The basic unit of change is a disruptor, because it’s value neutral: some disruptors are negative and some are positive. ~ Bruce Feiler
The key is discernment: knowing which moments are ‘meaningful’ and ‘meaning-lesser’ (as I like to call them). It’s about allowing ourselves the grace to let most moments pass without scrutiny while also being open to the idea that, occasionally, those seemingly minor events might be the seeds of something larger.
I’ve had my fair share of lifequakes (Feiler offers that we experience at least five key ones), but I’ve learned that change doesn’t always announce itself with fanfare. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you, disguised as the mundane. One day, you’re making your bed, and the next, you’re reevaluating the life you’ve built with the person who didn’t bother helping.
Travel has always been the great disruptor of my life. On a solo trip to Switzerland, I climbed a mountain in the snow, reaching the summit at dusk, and as the sky gradient blurred from sunset orange to midnight blue, I experienced what I believe was my first lifequake. For a decade, I’d be stuck in the same romantic loophole (you know the one, where we seem to be one the crying ourselves to sleep over people who can’t love us the way we need). Climbing that mountain marked a change in my deep love for myself, the relationship I was building and the vitality of giving everything to that relationship. I physically felt something shift in my bones, and as I made my way back down the mountain in the near dark, I decided to rewrite the narrative of who I wanted to be in my romantic relationships. At the base, I bathed in the starlight while waiting for the bus back to my hotel.
That experience marked a significant turning point for my sense of self and the life (and love) I wanted to create. I spent my last few days in Geneva and then flew home to London, delighted in my new contentedness with self.
That same day, I went to meet friends for dinner and a new face joined us. That man became my husband.
Change, like meaning, doesn’t have to be momentous to matter. But when we learn to examine our lives with a touch of judiciousness, we give ourselves the power to steer our own paths.
Not every moment will be a lesson, but the ones that are worth tuning into have the potential to shape us in unexpected ways. At its heart, every lifequake is a story. And no matter how messy or painful that story feels, you hold the pen.
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