Even though I write every day and publish each week, there are still times when, when I first sit down at my desk, I don’t know what to write.
Not because there isn’t anything to say, but because there is too much.
Too many thoughts. Too many possibilities. Too many truths all asking to be heard. It occurred to me that maybe that is itself a message.
We often imagine creativity, clarity, or insight arriving as a single beam of light—sharp, clear, focused.
But more often, it arrives like a kaleidoscope. Beautiful, yes—but also jumbled. Chaotic. Demanding that we sit still long enough for the patterns to reveal themselves.
It struck me that this is exactly how life feels sometimes, especially in the in-between.
So much of life isn’t lived in the big moments, the clean-cut chapters, the obvious transitions. It’s lived in the spaces between them. That undefined, often uncomfortable space after something ends but before the next thing fully begins.
We know how to talk about the before.
Before the diagnosis.
Before I became a mother or a grandmother.
Before the pandemic.
Before I lost my Mom.
Before I left my job.
Before I moved.
After is easy as well.
After the move.
After the loss.
After everything changed.
We think in those terms once it’s all said and done.
But we rarely speak of what happens in between.
We rarely talk about that strange middle space where we are neither who we were nor yet who we’re becoming. This is a space where there is no clarity, just movement, questions, and pivotal decisions. It is the place where transformation happens, but slowly, silently, like roots growing in the dark.
I’ve been thinking about my own recent in-betweens.
Standing in the liminal space between freedom and purpose, and realizing they were not opposites but dance partners.
Maybe you’ve had those seasons too. Or perhaps you are in one even now.
Where the role changes, but the new rhythm hasn’t arrived.
Where the friendship fades, but the grief hasn’t caught up.
Where the calendar is open, but the heart is crowded with uncertainty.
These in-between moments don’t get celebrated. We don’t have parties for them. No card says, “Congratulations on not knowing what comes next!”
But they are where life truly happens. They are where we decide who we are becoming.
It’s not the wedding or the divorce, the new job or the layoff, the diagnosis, or the recovery. It’s the moments before we know what any of those really mean. The quiet, confusing, often sacred space where we wait, question, wrestle, and become.
So much of our growth happens in that undefined middle.
And in many ways, we’re always in one. The truth is that we are always standing on the threshold of something, being led to letting go, reaching for, holding steady. It’s humbling. It’s uncomfortable. It’s profoundly human.
The important part of this is to remember that while we don’t always choose the before, we do get to choose the after.
And that… changes everything.
Which brings me back to the space between and what we do with all of this.
Whether it’s about identity, purpose, relationships, or healing, these in-between spaces call us to be intentional. They ask us to stop waiting for clarity to arrive before we act. Instead, they invite us to act with hope, even when clarity is still on its way.
We acknowledge that the in-between is not a pause in the story. It is part of the story.
We honor the space for what it offers—time, growth, intentional change.
And then we ask: What do I want my “after” to be?
That question doesn’t initially require a complete answer. But it does at least prompt a slight shift in direction, a choice, an act of courage, kindness, or connection.
You see, even when the in-between feels like a waiting room, a pause, a delay. It’s not.
It’s a bridge.
A bridge we build, piece by piece, step by step.
Some days, the next piece fits easily. Other days, it takes time to find the right shape. But every choice, every insight, every small act of courage is a puzzle piece in the bridge from where we are to where we are going.
We aren’t meant to wait until the bridge is fully built before crossing it.
We are meant to build it by crossing it.
There’s a certain beauty in that. It means that even when we don’t know the full picture, we can still move forward and begin to build something whole, meaningful, and strong.
It begins with recognizing where we are.
What season of “in between” are you living through right now?
What is it asking of you—and what is it making possible?
I’d love to know if you want to share it.
