At times these seem like very strange days to me. I'm going through a number of transitions all at the same time.

The biggest transition, of course, is going from begin a single man to being married.

It's a huge change to go from having your own place where you make all the decisions to sharing a home with someone else, especially when it's her house, the place she's lived in for a number of years.

Thankfully, everywhere I look I see reminders that it's my place too. There are items in each room that I brought with me, so they say, "It's ok; you live here now. This is home."

Another huge change is moving from Michigan to Wisconsin. It's colder here with a lot more snow. Plus the pace of life is a lot different. Just driving around is enormously different.

Mind you, I enjoy most of these differences, but they do take some getting used to, and contribute to the fish-out-of-water feeling associated with relocation.

Then there's the change of moving from a townhouse into your own home. Newsflash: No one shows up to shovel your walk; you have to do that yourself. No one fixes your toilet or repairs the appliances when they break down. Don't get me wrong - I like doing these things and I love the sense of ownership, but it's an adjustment all the same.

And how about going from being employed to being out of work? On the one hand, I seem to have more time on my hands to do things like shoveling the walk and fixing the toilet, but on the other hand, I miss the regular responsibilities of my vocation. And I certainly miss the income.

Thank God, I do have a number of opportunities to be active in ministry, but going from a salary with benefits to a mere per diem is humbling, to say the least.

And even with the work I'm getting, it feels a bit strange not to be in charge. Rather than setting the tone in terms of worship practice, etc., I'm called upon to play by "house rules," so to speak.

For instance, I personally prefer a more traditional liturgical approach, but if that's not the practice of the congregation where I'm guest-preaching, I have to adjust to the local practice.

Now, I don't have any difficulty doing this; I'm just not used to it, which is the point.

And then there is the whole synodical issue. My wife is WELS; I'm LCMS. At least the LCMS congregations - even the ones that have a different worship practice than I'm used to - use the same hymnals that I'm familiar with, so it's not too much of a stretch to accommodate them. When I attend Liz's church, they use their own hymnal (as one might expect) which is significantly different than ours, so it's another learning curve.

Again, I can do it. But it's part of the adjustment mix.

The whole thing with the music biz is a tremendous learning experience. It's one thing to write and record your music. Once the project is completed, now what? Well, I'm going through the whole "now what" now.

I've been floundering a bit trying to figure out how to promote my CD and organize live performances.

Gaining access to the industry seems a real challenge. There are a number of catch-22s involved.

Agents want you to have a fan base before they take you on, but how do you get one if you're not touring, which is one of the reasons you get an agent, so he can help book public performances.

Record labels often want to develop you their way, so if you have a completed project they aren't interested. (I've discovered that in some cases they have their own recording studio, and they want you to record everything all over again, which - to my suspicious nature - seems to suggest that they are simply trying to make money off of you. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: It's the recording industry - DUH!) ;)

Those are just a couple of pitfalls of starting out in this business, and I'm sure I could mention a number of others if I took a minute to think about it, but I think I've made my point. Huge learning curve.

So, as you can see, I'm going through a LOT of changes. It's cool though. I'm enjoying them for the most part. But there are times when I have to remind myself to stop and catch my breath.

Breathing ... it's a good thing. I'll get to that after unpacking the next set of boxes or the next load of laundry or after clearing the foot of snow off the deck.

One of these days I'll look back at this period in my history and say, "Wow. That was weird." And I will be quick to add, "But it was well worth it!"