The Soft Space of the In-Between

Not simply waiting for what's next, but learning to love the now.

This past Wednesday, I met some old coworkers for lunch at my previous office. We gathered around the small lunch table, the same one we ate at every day for the two years I worked there, and — surprise, surprise — sat down in our usual seats.

I had this surreal feeling of being a time-traveler. Are we sure it’s not September 2023? Are we sure I don’t have to hurry back to my desk to answer emails or give virtual orientations? The woman who was hired as my replacement had a doctors appointment, so I was surrounded by all familiar faces. It was strange to see an unfamiliar beige sweater resting on the back of my computer chair. Stranger to realize it was no longer my computer chair.

(It’s April 2024, remember?)

After, I took a drive in my cute mini red rental car, windows down and sun shining. As I drove down the familiar streets of my old town, I realized that I was smiling. Me, alone in my car, smiling. I stopped by my favorite coffee shop for an iced lavender latte before heading to our rental unit to switch out my winter clothes for spring/summer clothes to pack for our move to Germany.

A writer friend sent a text out to our group chat, inviting people over her house to write and chat before our group meeting that night. (During this visit, I got lucky enough to attend two writing meetings AND a writers’ retreat!!!) We sat out on her patio, drinking Earl Grey and eating crumbles from a block of delicious cheddar cheese. When familiar friends’ faces peered over the fence as they arrived, and the dogs barked their greetings, I felt so lucky. How is it that I’ve lived this life once before? How is it that I have these bright faces and lunch gatherings and sunny drives to return to one day?

I remember last fall, before we left for Manchester, I felt so restless — ready to get there already!!!! On the eve of our move to Munich, I don’t feel that this time around. Is that a change in me? Or is it simply just the way it is? I’ve loved this slow meandering that I’ve been doing during this “in-between” stage the last two weeks in the US.

Meander: to wander aimlessly or casually without urgent destination.

May we all have the gift to meander in this life. ❤️

🫶

---

I spent last week in Pittsburgh making memories with my family. Watching Family Feud with my grandma, playing pirates and having dance parties with my six-year-old niece (aka my BFF), belly laughing over middle school notes with my childhood bestie, staying up late into the night talking with my parents…

Now, I keep returning to this one moment when I was at the playground with my niece. She had moved on past the monkey bars and seesaw, and she wished to showcase her biking skills. I watched as she rode her bike back and forth, back and forth on the small paved path beside the playground.

Suddenly she stopped, plucking a dandelion from the grass. She inspected the flower for a few seconds before carefully placing it in her clear plastic pouch that’s attached to the front of her bike handles.

It made me smile. She saw this flower. She decided she liked this flower. She tried to keep this flower.

But of course, dandelions are delicate. By the time she had zipped up her pouch, it had fallen apart, little tufts of white scattering amongst her collection of other random-items-that-make-a-six-year-old-happy.

It reminded me so much of myself.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be okay with the fact that in this life, you meet many people who go separate ways from you, and that’s okay — good, even — because you’ll always have your memories, and shouldn’t that be enough?

But this is me we’re talking about. Some call me Paige, but I call myself The Most Sentimental Human Being Alive. I selfishly want to wrap my grubby little arms around every person I love in this world and never let them go.

But like my niece with the dandelion, some things are too precious to keep. The best thing we can do is not to pluck them and keep them in our little pouches, but simply stop and appreciate them for what they are. Maybe tomorrow they’ll still be there, swaying in the wind, but maybe not.

As I meander through this “in-between” phase, I’m learning this lesson more and more. It’s not about wishing everything could stay exactly as it was, but rather embracing the way it is. Knowing that things will change, but I will too. There’s beauty in the memories I’ve made, and there will be so much beauty in the new memories that have yet to be made.

"This following message is sophisticated and intellegical"