If You Find Yourself in Liminal Space…

Well, would you look at that – essay number forty-two. Ten more to go! Holy shit, we’re gonna make it. I’m not amazed necessarily, but I am relieved that we’ve stayed on track.

If this is your first time reading one of my essays – welcome! If you’ve been here since I kicked off this series with talk of Ronald Reagan and my first birthday, well, you’re a gem for sticking with me this entire time – I very much appreciate you :)

In great news for me, and hopefully also for you, I’m feeling particularly inspired to write this one. Today, I talked with a close friend about liminal space. And that got me thinking…

Checking to make sure it means what I think it means, a quick Google search got me here:

“Liminal space is the uncertain transition between where you’ve been and where you’re going physically, emotionally, or metaphorically. To be in a liminal space means to be on the precipice of something new but not quite there yet. The word ‘liminal’ comes from the Latin word ‘limen,’ which means threshold.”

Yowzers. “The uncertain transition…physically…emotionally…metaphorically…a threshold.” That’s a lot. And I recognize that feeling for sure!

Last week’s essay was about change more broadly, and for the past couple of essays I’ve briefly mentioned some thresholds in my life. Currently, at the time of writing this essay, my house is sold (under contract, technically, not closed, yet) and I’ve just started house hunting for a new spot to call home.

*An aside briefly here to name that I completely recognize the cultural and financial complexity of the idea of land and home ‘ownership.’ We are sharing this world, and we are on stolen land. I am ready, willing, and able to shift my relationship to home if I’m around when our capitalist economy changes to something else. Until then, I’ve made peace with my current set of choices. Didn’t want to skip over the silly reality of our current interlocking systems. Okay, back to it.

Last Friday afternoon, my trusted realtor and I checked out three properties and none of them were quite right. Which is, of course, not the end of the world. It would have been kind of like hitting the lottery if I had found “the one” on the first go. So, it was alright. But if I’m honest, upon reflection, I felt disappointed. I know that I’m leaving where I’m at, but I can’t quite imagine where I’m going. It’s a strange liminal space.

I also think the dejected vibe on my drive home after the viewings was in large part due to the dip in adrenaline from the previous 10 days. I had just been sprinting to get my current house ready to be shown. And then, with the showings, an open house, and the back-and-forth e-signatures of a sale, I hadn’t really stopped to take a breath and connect to all this happening and about to happen.

Now, it’s at this point you should probably know that my realtor is my mom’s best friend’s middle son (obviously;). I like him so much! I’ve known him my entire life. And he’s very good at his job.

I’m sharing that with you not because I’m out in these streets promoting realtors. I’m sharing this because, after writing about change more generally in last week’s essay, this week is about liminal space in particular.

Thresholds. Transitions. The in-between from what was to whatever will be next.

Andy, my realtor, a very practiced professional told me, “we’re going to find it, don’t worry.” And so, I am choosing to believe him.

There are zero guarantees. But this is also not an impossible task. It feels big right now, but some day, it will be a distant memory. It can feel weird to know, believe, or understand the value of liminal space when you’re simply trying to get through it.

I am reminded once again that these kinds of in-between thoughts, sensations, and feelings are a thing all their own.

Speaking about my own experience, I’m having trouble sleeping through the night. That’s one of the tell tale signs of liminal space for me.

It’s not dire. I bet it will get better. But for now, I’m waking up at least twice and am awake for what feels like a looooooong time (90 minutes, two hours) in the middle of the damn night.

I’ve watched enough British TV to know that the early morning, pitch-black time between bedtime and when anyone should reasonably be awake can be called the “small hours”—think 1, 2, 3 a.m. These are the smallest numbers on the clock, but they are also an eternity when it’s in the middle of the night.

In good news, I’m not feeling panicky or overly plan-obsessed while looking up at my bedroom ceiling fan. For the most part, I’m able to walk to the bathroom, come back, and restart the meditation app on my phone, which goes for 30 minutes, followed by 30 minutes of music. I also do any temperature adjusting that might help—futzing with the thermostat, blanket configuration, or even changing out pjs.

I recognize I don’t usually talk about my bedroom in these essays. Still, I’m doing so now because I think liminal space can be a mind, body, and spirit experience that occupies both waking and sleeping hours, conscious and unconscious energy.

I don’t know about you – but I’ve got a dismissive and pernicious inner critic.

She’s a real bitch, if I’m being honest.

Her mean middle school-level quips these past few weeks have sounded something like this:

- “You did this to yourself – you decided to move – so what are you complaining about!?”

And she goes on to weigh in on other liminal spaces while she’s at it:

- Family liminal space: “Your nieces are in between being children and adults – are you doing enough to support them?”

- Federal liminal space: “This election could go either fucking way – are you ready for both outcomes? What’s your plan?”

- Cultural liminal space: “New racist and xenophobic nonsense is being spewed across the news and internet in attempt to mobilize white voters who prefer other whites, when is the ‘news’ gonna ever get trustworthy? Or what do we do now that this is our collective information landscape?”

What am I supposed to do about any or all these things, you may be wondering? Well, that’s the kicker for me about liminal space. It’s the in-between times. It’s no longer the before times. And it’s not yet the future times. So there’s waiting involved. It’s the now times, and what’s next is still in the midst of unfolding.

Think of a knife’s edge, or the flip of a coin. I’m now mixing too many metaphors, but some liminal spaces feel like one strong wind will shift the direction of an entire life-altering outcome. Whoa.

Let’s go back to this house shift for a moment – I can consciously and with my adult intellectual faculties recognize that most of what happens next is not in my control.

- Who decides to move out of the neighborhoods I’m looking at is not in my control.

- Whether or not the closing date of my buyer is going to work as the closing date for whomever I buy from – not in my control.

- Whether or not I get that feeling – you know the one – the ‘this is my home’ feeling – alas, not in my control.

Are you sensing a theme?

I met with my Enneagram teacher and coach on Monday, and she encouraged me to revisit the phrases, “let’s find out,” and “let’s wait and see.”

**this is me deep breathing** (it can sound a little more like hyperventilating if you listen closely)

Both phrases – “let’s find out” and “let’s wait and see” sound wise, right, and reasonable when she said them. And yet, “let’s find out” and “let’s wait and see” is not an ‘easy breezy’ countenance I typically embody. I cannot say in good faith that those close to me would put ‘patience’ as one of my top 25 most memorable attributes – a lot of other things would surely come first.

But just like with other kinds of skill-building, patience is a thing I could choose to practice.

With practice, I will not necessarily fall in love with liminal spaces, but I might learn to tolerate them better.

I may even learn to appreciate their fleeting qualities.

I can try to come at liminal spaces from a different and less dire vantage point – not needing to wind up my body and my mind in a hypervigilant state that it just gonna lead to me griding my teeth at night.

Let’s try this again. Regarding some liminal spaces I’m up close to:

- My nieces are growing up right before my eyes, and lucky for me, I get to have a front-row seat to the unfolding.

- Election Day this year in the U.S. is Tuesday, November 5 th . In the hours, days, and weeks to come (I can still remember the hanging chads debacle and weeks of recounts of the Gore v. W Bush election) we will figure out what happens next.

- And each of us, in our own ways, are trying to develop a non-toxic relationship to news and information in a landscape that is totally unprecedented – and light years different than anything anyone who raised us could have foreseen or prepared us to navigate.

One more time,

“…To be in a liminal space means to be on the precipice of something new but not quite there yet…”

A precipice. That’s evocative. To me, what snaps to mind is the image of standing on the edge of a cliff, my toes up to the edge.

Scary. Exciting? Probably both.

If you find yourself in a liminal space, know that I’m there with you.

In work, in relationships, in financial or career planning, in school, in parenting, in your health, in your life – liminal spaces arise.

In my case, I’m not sure when my sleep is going to settle, or when I’m going to be able to breathe a bit more in my belly than my chest (which is the current situation). Until then, rather than push and force and try to make things happen that are not for me to control, I can commit to you that I am going to attempt to widen my aperture and try to take what liminal space, as it’s own special time, has to offer.

There are options. There is time. There is space now before whatever is coming actually arrives.

Here we are, together, in the uncertainty of what happens next, and we’re going to get through it. At least I have a lifetime of staying alive thus far to draw from. No matter how uncomfortable, discombobulating, or disorienting liminal space is feeling from the inside out, let’s each do whatever we can to breathe, get grounded, stay centered, and allow the needed unfolding.

As always, thanks for listening and considering this offering. Of course, if this musing on liminal space brings something up for you that you’d like to share, hit me up. Your reflections are welcome.

P.S. I’ve got room for a couple more coaching clients this fall – if now is a time when you would value some specific support, let me know - trina@trinaolson.com.

Grateful for you,