There are seasons in life when we know exactly where we are.
And then there are seasons when we don’t.
We have left something behind, but we have not quite arrived at whatever comes next.
I have been thinking about that space lately.
The in-between.
It can be uncomfortable because we are so accustomed to defining our lives by things we can name.
A job.
A relationship.
A home.
A role.
A plan.
What happens when the old definition no longer fits and the new one hasn’t fully formed?
For a long time, I think I viewed those periods as something to get through.
A type of waiting room.
Surely, once the next thing happened, I would understand why I had been there.
But lately I have begun to wonder if I have been looking at the in-between all wrong.
Maybe it isn’t a waiting room at all.
Maybe this is where some of our becoming actually happens.
I was reminded of that this week as I watched different people around me experience changes of their own.
Some doors closed.
Others opened unexpectedly.
Plans changed.
Conversations happened.
People connected.
And opportunities appeared in places no one could have predicted.
I began noticing something else, too.
Some of the most interesting things happening in my own life right now weren’t carefully planned.
They began because I reached out to someone.
Started something.
Accepted an invitation.
Had a conversation.
Followed an idea.
Made a connection.
And occasionally, because something didn’t go according to plan at all.
It made me realize how often we believe we need to know where something is leading before we take the first step.
We want certainty before movement.
But life rarely works that way.
Sometimes movement creates the clarity we were waiting for.
One conversation leads to another.
One introduction leads to someone we never would have met.
A single idea becomes a project.
One disappointment redirects us.
And a closed door causes us to finally notice another one standing slightly open.
And sometimes what initially looks like a mistake becomes an unexpected invitation.
We couldn’t have planned any of it.
But we had to be participating in our lives for it to find us.
That may be what I am learning most about this season.
We don’t have to see the whole road before we begin walking.
There is a beautiful difference between waiting and allowing.
Waiting says: Nothing can begin until I know what happens next.
Allowing says: I don’t know what happens next, but I am willing to participate in what is happening now.
So we send the message.
Make the call.
Have the coffee.
Begin the project.
Introduce ourselves.
Say yes when something feels right.
Say no when something no longer does.
We take the next step we can see and trust that another one will reveal itself when we get there.
And somewhere along the way, something remarkable begins to happen.
The life we are building starts introducing itself to us before we have finished building it.
Maybe through a person.
Maybe through an opportunity.
Or through an idea that refuses to leave us alone.
Possibly, through something that doesn’t work out and forces us to look in another direction.
We don’t always recognize these moments when they happen.
At times, we understand them only later, when we look backward and see how one seemingly insignificant moment connected to another.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter of my life will look like, and strangely, I am becoming more comfortable saying that.
There are things I am building.
Things I am creating.
People I am meeting.
Possibilities I am exploring.
Some will become part of my future.
Some won’t.
I don’t need to know which ones yet because perhaps the goal isn’t to rush through the in-between so we can finally arrive somewhere certain.
Perhaps, the goal is to learn how to live here, too.
To notice what is growing.
To remain curious.
To be grateful for what already exists while still being excited about what might be coming.
Leaving one shore when the next one isn’t completely visible takes a particular kind of courage.
But there is freedom in realizing that we don’t need the entire map, but rather that we only need enough light for the next step.
So if you are somewhere between what was and what will be, maybe you don’t need to rush yourself.
Maybe you aren’t behind.
You aren’t lost.
Maybe your life isn’t on hold at all.
Look around you and take notice.
Who are you meeting?
What keeps calling your attention?
What are you creating?
What are you learning?
What possibilities are beginning to appear that weren’t there six months ago?
And what small step could you take toward one of them?
Because the in-between isn’t empty, it’s where things are connecting.
It’s where we discover what we are willing to leave behind and what we want to carry forward.
Where new parts of us begin emerging before we even have names for them.
And sometimes, while we are busy wondering when the next chapter will finally begin, we discover something wonderful.
It already has.
With love,
Norma & Pixie