The Shape of A Transition

The Shape of a Transition

The new moon marks another reset — but this time, the quiet is deceptive. In New Jersey, we’ve entered the most volatile stretch of the political cycle: the transition. A governor-elect, a shifting map of power, and a new set of people and priorities moving into position. Nothing is settled.

This is the period when the ground feels like it’s shifting under your feet. Names circulate. Roles are whispered. Everyone is “hearing something” from someone. Some are being pulled inside. Others are angling for new posts.

Some are suddenly visible; others are suddenly not. The volume of speculation expands to fill every gap in real information.

Earlier this year, I started a meditation practice to stay grounded when the noise picks up. I practice Vedic Meditation; I sit twice a day religiously. It taught me one thing quickly: you can’t stop the noise, but you can stop reacting to every sound. Transitions operate the same way. They generate distraction, urgency, and false signals. If you chase all of it, you lose your ground.

Meditation trains you to notice without attaching. In government transitions, that skill becomes tactical. You hear the rumors without letting them set your direction. You stay present to the work instead of getting pulled into the vortex of what-ifs. You anchor yourself in what you can actually execute.

Transitions expose how much of government runs on momentum and muscle memory — and how much is held together by the people who keep doing the work while the political plates realign. The machinery doesn’t stop. Budgets still need drafting. Constituents still need answers. Agencies still need to function, even as their future leadership is being decided in rooms most of us will never see.

This is where the discipline of the in-between becomes practical. It’s the ability to stay steady while the landscape rearranges itself. To keep doing your work even when you don’t know who will be in the chair next month, or what priorities will survive the handoff. To resist the pull of rumor as a substitute for fact.

Transitions reward those who can hold their footing without grabbing for certainty too early. The leaders who navigate this season well understand that you don’t force clarity; you wait for it.

Right now, the best work happens in the quiet spaces — finishing what needs to be finished, keeping systems stable, and preparing for multiple scenarios at once. It’s unglamorous, often unseen, and absolutely essential. Meditation teaches that the stillness underneath the noise is real, even when the noise is loud. This season demands the same kind of discipline.

The ground will settle. It always does. The new administration will take shape, and the whispers will become announcements. But until then, we ride the wave — eyes open, pace steady, work intact — knowing the transition isn’t chaos; it’s the necessary reordering before a new rhythm begins.