I Don’t Have It All Figured Out and That’s the Point
The In-Between Space is a reflective blog series exploring identity, nuance, and the stories that don’t fit in boxes. Through personal storytelling, it gives voice to the quiet tension of not fully fitting anywhere and the beauty, clarity, and self-discovery that can emerge from that space.
There’s a word I keep coming back to lately: liminality.
It’s the space between what was and what’s yet to come, a threshold where identity, beliefs, and reality begin to shift. The in-between. Not quite the before, not yet the after. Just transition.
We all know that change can bring excitement and joy, but it also stirs up discomfort and uncertainty, especially when the path forward is unclear. It’s like arriving at a crossroads with no map, no signal, and your phone on 1%. Liminal spaces are uncomfortable by nature. They disrupt our sense of certainty and challenge the roles we’ve grown to inhabit. Within them lies an unglamorous kind of growth. The growth that demands you go deeper within yourself to find the answers.
Since the start of the year, I’ve been living in this in-between. I traded a life of stability for a life of full-time travel. I left the 9-to-5 grind to reclaim my time. I’m shifting from independence to interdependence. I’m shedding old ways of thinking and making space to embrace new beliefs. This period of liminality isn’t unique to me. I’ve spoken with so many people who are also in this space where they’re questioning, transitioning, or even starting over. Maybe it’s a coming of age. Or a collective awakening to the weight of societal expectations we never agreed to.
All our lives, we’re taught that the path to happiness is simple: go to college, build a career, get married, and have children—the perfect formula for a fulfilled life. But life isn’t linear, and it certainly isn’t one-size-fits-all. We followed the rules, did what we were told, and were met with a world that no longer supports the promises we were sold. We live to work, not work to live. We’re drowning in student loan debt, while the cost of simply existing—housing, healthcare, groceries—continues to rise as wages stay the same.
And so many of us now live in the in-between. In the tension between what we were told would bring fulfillment and the reality that those traditional paths no longer guarantee security, joy, or alignment. Between the expectations placed on us and the truth we’re slowly uncovering about what we actually want. That, too, is liminality. The space where illusions fall away, and we begin to imagine something different…something more true.
And that’s exactly where I find myself…in the thick of the in-between.
Earlier this year, I stepped away from a decade-long career that no longer sparked fulfillment. No title. No regular paycheck. No roadmap. Just space and a lot of questions.
Do I want to build something of my own?
Am I ready to lean into entrepreneurship, not as a hustle but as a more honest way of living?
Can I allow myself to be seen, fully seen, and still choose the path that feels most aligned?
There is no blueprint for this kind of leap. It requires confronting doubt, navigating scarcity thinking, and still choosing the path that feels most true, even when it’s unfamiliar or misunderstood.
This is the unraveling. Where the old ways no longer fit, but the new ones haven’t fully formed. Where the questions are louder than the answers. Where you're building while becoming. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe this period isn’t something to rush through, but something to honor. A necessary threshold where clarity, courage, and a different kind of liberation are born.
At the same time, I’m preparing to cross another kind of threshold, not professional, but personal. In a few months, I’ll be married.
This chapter is tender, joyful, and expansive. But it’s also a liminal space of its own. I’m standing at the edge of something sacred, learning to let go of the version of me shaped by solitude, independence, and self-protection. Learning to trust that love can be spacious and evolving. That commitment doesn’t mean shrinking, but expanding.
I’m reimagining love not as perfection, but as partnership. Not as arrival, but as shared becoming. And like all deep transformations, this one is layered.
This shifting space between roles, beliefs, and identities is rarely easy to navigate. It stirs up grief, clarity, fear, and liberation all at once. Some days I feel spacious, confident, and free. Other days I’m unsure. But most days, I’m simply practicing presence, allowing what is to be. And like all transitions, it’s both beautiful and disorienting. There are moments when I feel completely at peace and others where I grieve what I’m leaving behind. Both are valid, and both belong.
What I’ve learned so far is that fear isn’t always a warning. It’s a signal that you’re doing something unfamiliar.
So the practice becomes doing the scary thing until it stops feeling scary. That might look like quietly betting on yourself when no one else is watching. Using your voice in a room where you once stayed silent. Keeping your heart open in the face of what you can’t predict, whether it’s life alone, life together, or life raising someone else. Choosing rest when everything in you says push harder. Or simply trying something new, just to remember that you’re allowed to.
It’s all about trusting the next step, even if you can’t see the whole path.
The in-between rarely gets celebrated. We tend to glorify the arrival, not the becoming. But liminality is where transformation quietly takes root. It’s where old selves dissolve and new ones start to take shape. It’s where we unlearn, relearn, and slowly become more of who we already are.
If you’re in your own in-between, personally, professionally, or spiritually, you’re not alone. The discomfort isn’t failure. The doubt doesn’t mean you’re lost, nor should it stop you from continuing. Often, it’s just evidence that you’re standing at the edge of something meaningful.
Let the transition do its work. Let it stretch you. Let it shape you.
