I’ve been thinking recently about the concept of liminality. How do we emotionally traverse liminal time? Transition can make us feel uneasy and the sense of being in transition day-in and day-out can be challenging.
Most of the time when we have to wait, such as waiting for a holiday, a vacation or a visit from family or friends we have a specific date in the calendar to mark the anticipated event. This makes it easier. But a continuous stream of not knowing when events will occur, or if they will take place at all, can feel disheartening. While this is true with regards to the global pandemic we are still navigating, it also is true in my own life.
I can feel something new is on the horizon. Maybe you’re having this feeling too? Something that will require space and time and lead me down a new path — a path I seem hesitant to follow. I’ve made some baby steps forward, I’ve reached out tender tendrils of possibility. But I’m still in the waiting, not knowing period
To deal with the uncertainty of liminality, I have found myself seeking a sense of grounded-ness in the in-between, by sinking deeper into transition. I’m exploring the transition between day and night, the time before it’s fully dark, when colors fade to grey and the outlines of bats dart across the sky. I’m exploring mornings too. The opposite side of dusk, when everything begins to come alive. I sit on the back porch, dog by my side, coffee in hand, watching as the birds come and go from the feeder and squirrels scamper through the trees. During these liminal markers in the movement of time, I’m watching and listening.
As I sit in seemingly infinite transition, these moments at the beginning and end of the day are helping me sink into the essence of who I am at my core. At these times, my eyes wander to other transitional spaces such as the spaces between the plants or the transition between the plants and the sky. These are the spaces where bees, pill bugs and spiders live their lives and I find myself becoming lost in their world.
Part of me thinks I should be working. But isn’t this work? The wiser part of me knows that I have to slow down. So my body and mind are telling me to sit, to watch, to listen… and to wait. But what am I waiting for? I ask and the answer is always, You’ll see, you’ll see.
And at times I think I am learning. I’m learning to “see” and to “listen.” I’m listening to the universe for hints, and it’s slowly taking form.
I realize that this time is needed. I’m finishing the work of the caterpillar. I will soon form a chrysalis. I’m sinking into transition, living into liminality, knowing that what comes next will transform me as a composer, and as a person, in ways I cannot yet imagine. I can’t wait… and at the same time, I can wait. That’s the essence of transition. I’ll let keep you up to date as I know more. In the meantime, here are some tips for living into transition and some beautiful recordings of “The Path You Walk Upon.”
For now, love and peace,
Catherine
Five Tips for Living into Transition
- Find a something that is grounding for you. This might be a meditation practice, but it also might be walking, eating a meal outside, just thinking of your feet touching the ground as you walk. Find what works for you and do it as often as feels right.
- Sink into the waiting. Enjoy this time.
- Trust that new beginnings and transitions take time for a reason.
- Resist forging ahead with new things to do to fill your time while you wait. These new things will fill up your day, making you feel like you’re using your time well, but they all prolong the transition.
- Think outside the box. Things didn’t go as originally planned? No worries. Return to Tip #1. Do the things that ground you before you take your next steps.