Living in the Threshold
If you’re between what was and what hasn’t formed yet, this quiet can feel unsettling. This piece reflects on the threshold as a valid place to stand — not a delay or a mistake, but a moment where life is rearranging itself before it speaks again.
If you’re between what was in your life
and what is yet to come hasn’t formed yet,
this can feel strange.
Not dramatic.
Not broken.
Just unfamiliar.
Most of us aren’t taught how to be here.
We’re taught how to begin things.
How to commit.
How to move forward.
But we’re rarely taught how to stand in the middle
without turning it into a problem.
So when life slows down
without our permission,
we assume something has gone wrong.
But this middle space isn’t empty.
It’s quiet.
Nothing is missing here.
There’s simply less noise.
No direction is demanding to be chosen.
No identity is asking to be reinforced.
No explanation is required yet.
That absence of pressure can feel uncomfortable
if motion has always been
how you measured progress.
If certainty was how you knew
you were doing things “right.”
Stillness can feel like disappearance.
Like momentum has been lost.
Like you’ve stepped out of view.
But stillness isn’t absence.
It’s a different condition.
Things are rearranging
without announcing themselves.
And not everything that matters
arrives with clarity or force.
If you don’t know what’s next yet,
but you also know something is over,
that can be unsettling.
Because it removes your reference points.
Not knowing what’s coming
is not the same as being lost.
Being lost carries panic.
Urgency.
The need to escape.
This doesn’t.
This feels slower.
Heavier.
More honest.
It asks you to stay present
without answers.
You haven’t disappeared from where you were.
You’ve simply stepped out of certainty.
The map you relied on
no longer applies.
But the ground is still under you.
And right now,
that matters more
than choosing a destination too soon.
Many people rush this stage.
They decide quickly.
They redefine themselves.
They move forward
just to feel solid again.
But premature movement
often creates more friction,
not less.
If things have slowed down
without you choosing it,
this can feel like a problem.
But this pause
is not a delay.
Nothing is waiting for you to hurry up.
Nothing is falling behind.
Something has simply stopped pushing.
The old momentum has ended.
The next one hasn’t begun.
That doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
It means timing
is doing the work now.
And timing
doesn’t respond to force.
This is the threshold.
Between what was
and what’s next.
Not a gap to fill.
Not a mistake to correct.
A place to stand.
You don’t need to rush through it.
You don’t need to explain it.
And you don’t need to become someone else
to justify being here.
For now,
it’s enough to notice
that you’re still here,
still grounded,
still intact.
And that this quiet moment
isn’t the absence of life.
It’s life
reorganising itself
before it speaks again.
