Liminality - 026

Photograph by Tod Seelie

 

The Spaces In Between

As I write this, our country is preparing to hand off power from one president and one political party to another.

We are awaiting vaccines and the world to reopen.

We are moving into a new normal of work, travel, shopping, being.

We are in the process of reconciling our nation's polarity (maybe our family's too).

Our world is in a transitional state right now and each one of us is experiencing this liminality.

Welcome to the middle.

The space in-between what was and what will be. In order to be comfortable here, we need to be ok not knowing everything. Just waiting. Just seeing what will be. Tolerating the ambiguity.

Look around.

There is space in between everything. This room is filled with stuff but also filled with space. We can think about our house as the walls and doors and windows. We can think about it as the collection of furniture and books and things. Or we can think about our house as the space within the walls, and the energy between the things. The space is the essence of our house.

There is also liminal space between people. Space between days. Breaths. Thoughts. This month I'm ignoring the stuff and focusing on the in-between. Let's explore liminality.

Hold on, here we go.

 

Crowd #7 (Bob Hope Airport) installation and photo by Alex Prager

 

Stuck Metaphors

Over the years, I've kept a running list of metaphors for what it feels like to be stuck.

They've helped me reframe everything from major career transitions to just feeling unsure of a small project.

Knowing that most of us are in some sort of liminal place right now, I hope there's something in here that helps.

Feeling stuck can be like a:

SNAKE
I'm not right in my own skin. It's uncomfortable and too tight. To escape, I must shed a layer of who I thought I was.

HERMIT CRAB
I've outgrown my space and it's no longer protecting me. To move forward, I must brave a moment of vulnerability and leave my current situation for something similar, but new.

CATERPILLAR/BUTTERFLY
I'm meant to be something else, but it's hard to see what that transformation looks like. To truly go through it, I must be ready, isolate for a period of time and emerge as something or someone totally new.

AIRPLANE
I'm building speed and needing some runway ahead of me to take off amid unbelievable odds.

JUNGLE GYM
Career trajectories are not all ladders. Sometimes lateral moves can make sense to climb and explore more easily.

COMBINATION LOCK
There's some treasure waiting to be discovered, I just have to keep trying new ideas until it unlocks.

MARBLE SCULPTURE
I'm stuck, trapped inside a block of marble. I am this amazing thing waiting to come out. I just need to strip away the excess, chisel off the unneeded pieces and stuff to reveal what was there all along.

BANANA
I may have been picked early and gotten confused that that meant I was ready. I just need some time to ripen (but I better pay attention because it's a short window of opportunity).

MUSTARD
I'm trying to do something alone, when really, I'm best when accompanied by the right partner. I can make the difference in an incredible sandwich, dressing, or marinade.

SUPERHERO
Like Spiderman being bitten, a new set of skills and identity will come from a dire, scary situation. I need to go through this and see how I will be transformed.

BIRTH
Something big and exciting is coming, but it requires labor and pain before it emerges.

 
 

Thread

From the day you are born
you start to collect threads.

Everything you like becomes one.
Everything you're good at.
Every compliment about something you do well.
Every preference and personality quirk.
All become a thread.

Each thread twists with another
and over time, they weave themselves into a fabric.

As you experiment stepping into the world,
you spin and cut and cobble together a shirt.
Try it on. See how it fits.
Maybe it fits right away.
But sometimes it takes a while.
(Longer than you'd expect.)

Maybe it's always fit you just right. 
But not likely.

Maybe you wore something you thought fit you... until you got to college.
Maybe you wore something for decades and are just now starting to outgrow it.
Maybe you still haven't found that right fit.

Pull on the loose ends.
Undo the seams.
Let the shirt unravel.
(It doesn't fit anyway.)

Your shape is changing.
It can feel awkward to not have anything that fits.
You may even be tempted to put that old shirt on for nostalgia sake.
But it's not right. 
And now it's unraveling, falling apart.

Here's what comes next:

Choose the best threads and fabric and swatches from what you already have.
Put the rest aside.
Your threads don't disappear.
But they fray and become unusable for our current needs.

And search for new thread.
Collect patches and rebuild the fabric.
Sew something that only you can wear.
That matches your shape and suits you. And only you.

It's hard to imagine what this might become and how it to
wear it.
But someday soon
it's going to fit you perfectly.

 
 

A Metaphorical Death

Imagine stepping into a doorway into a completely dark room. The door closes and disappears into the darkness. The echo gives the impression of a cavernous room, but it's difficult to tell just how big this room is, or what's inside. And there doesn't seem to be an obvious way out. 

This idea of liminality can be terrifying to some people and calming to others. Liminality is a transitional state in our lives, usually as an entry into a new identity or as part of a rite of passage. Puberty. The summer after high school. Waiting for a job offer. Getting engaged. Moving. Pregnancy.

These life milestones require leaving something behind or breaking from our previous practice or routine. We have to come to terms with a metaphorical "death" of who we used to be and find space to mourn that loss before we can

fully accept a new identity, as a "new being."

Throughout our lives, we experience these transitions as moments, typically by ourselves or with another person. Like death or marriage or birth. Sometimes in groups as in a graduation, gap year, or local natural disaster.

But sometimes we experience transitions over long periods of time with a whole society. Like a war or revolution or... wait for it... a pandemic.

We are in a societal liminal period.

Our entire world is in a transition phase, in the process of coming to terms with a metaphorical "death" of who we used to be. As individuals and as a society. This month means a lot in that transition. After a year like 2020, January 2021 holds its own symbolism as a time of hope and transition into a new life. We have a new president. People we know are starting to get vaccinated.

In the coming year, we will move into a post-liminial phase where we will step into a new identity and way of being.

Transition brings about fear. That dark room we're all in right now can feel immobilizing. And fear makes us reach out for anything comforting. It makes us look to the past and cling to whatever we still have. It's known. It's familiar.

Our job right now is not to give in to the fear.

Our job is to let go of the past.

To accept the death of who we were, as individuals and as a society before this time.

To mourn and grieve that loss.

And then, our job is to make space for what is to come.

 
 

Making Space

Last week I was listening to a podcast with one of my favorite songwriters, Ben Folds, discussing favorite songs. When we love a song, he says, it's not the whole song. It's maybe a verse or even a line. It might be a chord change or a rest or a solo. We usually just love one moment.

Our favorite songs are not all amazingness from start to finish.

He mentions the great composer Claude Debussey who said "music is the space between the notes." Sure, that's a little pretentious. But it speaks to something bigger than music.

The peaks need valleys.

As songwriters (and as humans), we have to allow the forgettable minutiae in our lives. Because those moments are what create space and transition that lead to our favorite moments. We have to remind ourselves that not every day is going to be amazing or even memorable.

We need the in-between and liminal ones to allow the great ones to happen.

So here's wishing you a forgettable morning, but a memorable afternoon.

With gratitude,

Jake

PS - Feel free to forward this along to someone who might be going through something challenging right now.

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Jake Kahana