Between What Was and What’s Next

Liminal spaces are funny things. They don’t announce themselves with clear signage, no blinking arrows saying “this way to your next chapter.”

Instead, they sneak up on you. You wake up one morning and realize you’re not where you were, but you’re not yet where you’re going either.

For most of my life, my instinct has been to rush through those in-betweens. To hustle, to define, to land somewhere, anywhere, so I wouldn’t have to sit in the ambiguity. But this time feels different.

Over the past few months, life has cracked open in ways I didn’t expect. Adventures that pulled me into places I didn’t know I needed, connections that made my chest ache in the best way, love that feels less like a lightning strike and more like a steady flame I want to protect. In the midst of all of this, I keep hearing a whisper: slow down.

And when I do, when I actually surrender to what’s right here, life expands. The small moments feel louder. Coffee tastes richer. Silence feels like company instead of absence. I notice how good it feels to wake up next to someone you can just be with, how nourishing it is to choose slow adventure over long to-do lists, how much softer the world becomes when you stop fighting its pace.

The liminal has become less about “waiting for what’s next” and more about allowing what is to shape me. I don’t need to rush through the threshold anymore. I can linger. I can trust that uncertainty isn’t a void to be filled but a space where something tender and true can take root.

So here I am: saying yes to what calls, even when it doesn’t come with a roadmap. Saying yes to love, to slowness, to a life that feels less like performance and more like presence.

Maybe the liminal is where we learn the most. Maybe it’s where we stop rehearsing and finally step into the truth of our own becoming.