Enthusiasm Meets Transition

A picture of cupboard cookies - bits and pieces of leftover m&m's and chocolate chips to clear the cupboards.

I’m an Enneagram 7, which, if you’re not an Enneagram person, means I am wired for enthusiasm, possibility, and “Ooooh, what if we tried this?” The Enneagram is a personality tool that names nine different ways people tend to move through the world—our motivations, our fears, our coping strategies. It’s less about behavior and more about what’s driving the behavior.

Sevens are often called “The Enthusiast” or “The Adventurer.” We’re part of the head (fear) triad, which means our minds are always working. We cope with anxiety by looking for options, reframing problems, and planning something delightful just around the corner. Our core desire is to be content and free. Our core fear is being stuck in pain, deprived, or missing out (FOMO).

In other words, we keep life moving.

I love being a Seven. I love that I can see possibility. I love that I genuinely get excited about what’s next. I love that hope comes pretty naturally to me. As a pastor, that’s a gift. I can imagine new ministries, cast vision, and trust that even endings can hold seeds of resurrection.

But here’s where it gets interesting—especially in a pastoral transition.

When Sevens are under stress, we borrow some energy from Type 1. Ones are organized, principled, and very focused on doing things correctly. So instead of being scattered and brainstorming ten new ideas, I get… structured.

Very structured.

I make lists. Detailed lists. I make timelines. I make graphs. I cull my books. I reorganize files. I suddenly care very deeply about whether something is in the correct folder. It’s not that this is bad—some of it is very helpful. But if I start getting a little rigid about my lists, if I seem extra concerned about doing everything “right,” if my joy starts to feel slightly compressed… that’s probably my stress showing up.

Knowing I’m a Seven actually helps me in a season like this. It gives me language for what’s happening inside me. If I’m filling every moment with planning, that might mean I’m trying not to feel the sadness of goodbye. If I’m hyper-focused on logistics, that might mean the uncertainty feels bigger than I’m letting on.

It also gives the people around me a gentle heads-up.

If you see me clutching a clipboard with unusual intensity, you have permission to check on me. If I’m obsessing over whether something is perfectly in order, you can ask how my heart is doing. If I start acting like the Fun Pastor Who Suddenly Has Strong Opinions About Spreadsheet Formatting… that’s your cue.

Transitions stretch all of us. For me, being a Seven means I’ll bring hope, energy, and a deep trust that God is not done yet. It also means I have to be mindful not to outrun grief or manage uncertainty with color-coded precision.

So yes, there will be lists. I know myself.

But there will also be laughter, honest tears, and a lot of gratitude. Because at my healthiest, being a Seven means I can stay present—not just for what’s next, but for what is.

And that feels like the most important work of all.