There’s a moment in every meaningful transition when you are no longer who you were—but not yet who you’re becoming. It’s the space between shores. Unanchored. Ambiguous. Necessary.
We tend to glorify clarity. But most real change is murky. Viktor Frankl wrote that “between stimulus and response, there is a space,” and in that space lies our power to choose. Transitions are that space. But they rarely feel like power. They feel like drifting. They feel like a wilderness and you’re lost.
The trouble is, we’re wired to interpret uncertainty as threat. As John Hayes explores in The Theory and Practice of Change Management, people resist not because they don’t want to change—but because they fear what’s on the other side of letting go. So we rush to solve the in-between. We pressure ourselves to make sense when what’s required is to make contact—with our feelings, with our needs, with what no longer fits.
Jessica Dore, in Tarot for Change, frames this beautifully. The “liminal” phase of transition, she suggests, is where healing work actually happens. It’s not about knowing—it’s about learning to stay. To feel. To trust what hasn’t yet formed.
And still, it’s hard. The pull back to the old shore can be strong—especially when the new one hasn’t come into view. But there are signs that you’re navigating it, not failing:
• You’re less certain, but more curious.
• You’re grieving things you once clung to.
• You’re drawn to slower answers, not louder ones.
The trick isn’t to rush through this space—it’s to relate to it differently. Brené Brown calls this the heart of vulnerability: “the courage to show up when you can’t control the outcome.” That courage doesn’t come from having the map. It comes from trusting your ability to orient without one.
So if you find yourself between identities, roles, or life chapters—pause before you try to build the bridge. You’re not lost. You’re just between shores. And the water, even when unfamiliar, knows how to carry you.
Reflection:
How can you surrender to the wilds of transitions—to the open sea? What would you have to trust in, believe in, to let yourself wander in peace?
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