Psychological Flexibility and the Power of the Yellow Light

We were jetlagged and hungry, wandering through the cobblestone streets of Copenhagen, when my teenage daughter grabbed my sleeve at a crosswalk.

“Did you see that?” she asked, pointing to the traffic light. I had no idea what she was referring to because I was too busy hunting for a bakery with Wi-Fi so I could pull up Google Maps and figure out where I’d gone off course in our route to find the famous Nyhavn Harbor. “The yellow light appeared before the green,” she said. “It’s like they give you a heads-up before you have to start moving.”

Source: Lindsey Godwin/Used with Permission

We stood there watching a few more lights together, and sure enough, she was right. In the U.S., yellow means slow down, get ready to stop. But in Denmark (and apparently some other European countries I’ve since learned), yellow gives you a signal before stopping and going.

The idea that you’re given a moment to get ready to move, not just to hit the brakes, stuck with me.

Once we were back home, I started to notice how rarely we allow that in daily life. We prepare for endings constantly. We think through worst-case scenarios. We rehearse the breakup speech, the layoff call, and the backup plan. Yet, we rarely give ourselves space to prepare for beginnings. We do not practice coming back after burnout. We do not rehearse for the moment the proverbial light turns green, and we need to remember how to move forward again.

Our ease with stopping, our clumsiness with starting

Most of us know how to handle disappointment because we have been trained to plan for it. We buy insurance policies to protect ourselves from loss. We tuck granola bars into our bags in case a meeting runs long or a flight gets delayed. We hold backup plans in our heads, always ready with a plan B or C if things fall apart (I've been known to map out to plan Z before!). However, we do not always know how to prepare for the moments when things go well. We are often caught off guard when the new job comes through, when the project is finally finished, or when the idea we have been carrying quietly suddenly takes off. What we do not practice nearly as often is preparing for joy.

Getting ready for joy can feel even scarier than preparing for loss because it asks us to hope. It asks us to believe that things might actually turn out better than we expected.

Psychological flexibility: the yellow light before the green

The gap between preparing to stop and preparing to go reminds me of something in psychology called psychological flexibility. It’s really about the ability to shift and bend when life doesn’t go the way you thought it would. It’s noticing when the plan you had in your head no longer works and being willing to shift rather than cling to the map you drew months, or even minutes, ago.

Building more psychological flexibility is at the heart of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT. The idea isn’t about fixing or erasing every hard thing, because that is impossible. Rather, it’s about learning how to keep moving in a way that fits your values, even when life is messy and not going how you planned. Research has shown that people who are more psychologically flexible tend to manage stress more effectively and build stronger relationships (Kashdan & Rottenberg, 2010).

When I think back to that Copenhagen crosswalk, psychological flexibility feels a little bit like the yellow light before the green. It’s the moment where you take in what’s happening, make a small adjustment if you need to, and then step forward.

Lessons in preparing for the green light

As I reflect on what it means to prepare for the green light, here are three lessons I am working on for myself and invite you to consider too:

1. Treat anticipation like a muscle.

   Most of us are experts at bracing for the bad stuff. We imagine the bad email that never comes or a possible conversation that could go sideways. What we rarely practice is bracing for things to go right. Psychologist Rick Hanson calls this “taking in the good,” and I’ve realized how easy it is to let those moments slip past. A compliment lands, and I brush it off. A project finishes, and I’ve already moved to the next deadline. Recently, however, I’ve been experimenting with holding on to those good moments a little longer. I am trying to let myself picture what success might actually feel like, not because I think I can will it into being, but because I don’t want to be caught off guard if it finally arrives.

2. Accept that beginnings feel clumsy.
   The first day in a new job rarely feels smooth. You are trying to remember names, find the coffee machine, and pretend you’re not lost on your way back from the bathroom. The first draft of anything worth writing usually looks like something you’d rather hide in a drawer. When I began anything new, I used to think that a wobble was a sign I wasn’t ready, that I should wait until I felt more certain. What I’ve learned is that the wobble is just a sign that I am beginning something new. It’s what standing in the yellow light feels like, knowing the move is coming, feeling a little awkward, and still not sure if your foot is on the gas yet.
3. Make space for the green light.
   When things finally start to move, my instinct is to barrel forward, almost as if the good thing might disappear if I don’t grab it right away. In that rush, I often miss what has just opened. Lately, I’ve been trying something different. I’ll take a slow walk after sending a big piece of work out the door. Or I’ll call a friend just to say, “This happened.” Sometimes I’ll simply sit in the quiet and let the news sink in. None of these moments is grand, but they give shape to the change. They help me remember this isn’t just another task checked off a list. It’s a green light, and I want to notice it before I rush past.

That crosswalk in Copenhagen has stayed with me. It reminded me that life is not just about red lights that stop us or green lights that tell us to go, but the yellow in between matters too. It’s the space that lets us catch our breath, look around, and ready ourselves for whatever comes next. I still miss it sometimes, rushing ahead without noticing, but that image of the light changing has become a quiet reminder to prepare not only for the hard stops, but also for the good starts.