The Language of the In-Between
We don’t often think about the space between things. Life feels defined by beginnings and endings—relationships starting or ending, careers taking off or winding down, decisions made or avoided. But what about everything that happens in the middle? What about those strange, liminal spaces where we aren’t quite where we were, but we aren’t yet where we’re going?
It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it? The not-knowing. The waiting. The feeling of being suspended in time, untethered to any real outcome. It’s so tempting to rush through those moments, to wish them away in favor of clarity, finality, resolution. But I wonder—what would happen if we didn’t rush?
The in-between is a kind of language. It doesn’t shout; it whispers. It’s not flashy or urgent; it’s subtle, almost weightless. And because it’s quiet, it’s easy to ignore. But if you pause long enough to listen, you’ll start to hear it.
Maybe you’ve felt it before. That gentle pull in your chest as you stand on the edge of a big decision, not ready to leap but not willing to turn back. Or the strange peace that settles in after something ends, before the next thing begins—a silence that feels both empty and full at the same time.
The in-between isn’t just about waiting for life to happen; it’s about what you notice while you’re there. The quiet hum of the world moving around you. The details you’re usually too busy to see. The sound of your own breath, steady and alive. These are the moments that remind us that even when we’re in transition, we’re still here. We’re still part of the rhythm of life.
I think the in-between is where we do our most important growing, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time. It’s where we learn to be patient with ourselves, to sit with uncertainty without trying to solve it. And let me tell you, that’s hard. We’re so conditioned to seek answers, to push forward, to make things happen. But some of the most meaningful transformations happen not in the doing, but in the waiting.
The in-between is also where we find grace. Not the kind of grace that’s poised and polished, but the kind that lets us be human. It’s messy and awkward and sometimes really uncomfortable, but it’s also where we start to soften. When we let go of the need to control every outcome, we make space for things to unfold in ways we couldn’t have imagined.
I’ve started to think of the in-between as a bridge. It’s not where we plan to stay, but it’s how we get to where we’re going. And like any bridge, it offers a view we’d miss if we just rushed across. The way the light changes in the late afternoon. The sound of the wind moving through trees. The way life keeps humming quietly along, even when we feel stuck.
Take a moment to reflect: where are you right now? Are you in one of those in-between spaces? Perhaps you’re waiting for something to begin, or something to end, or just trying to figure out what comes next. Wherever you are, pause for a moment. Look around you. What do you see? What do you feel? Can you notice the little things—the way the air feels against your skin, the soft rustle of your clothes, the quiet steadiness of your breath?
The in-between isn’t a void; it’s alive. It’s a pause—a necessary breath before the next movement. And if you let it, it can be beautiful.
So the next time you feel stuck or restless in the waiting, remember this: you’re not stuck; you’re unfolding. There’s no rush. The in-between has its own rhythm, its own quiet wisdom. It’s always speaking, softly, and it’s waiting for you to hear it.
And if you let yourself truly notice it—what’s around you, within you—you might just find that the in-between holds exactly what you need right now.