Liminal space 1: Emerging
When what’s next isn’t clear
Sometimes the next thing bursts in, uninvited and loud, before the current one has even had the decency to wrap up.
Other times, you just know—it’s time to go.
Out of a role, a relationship, a city, a version of yourself.
And yet… no clear answer to that annoying little question: What’s next?
You might’ve left physically. Or just mentally packed up and ghosted.
You don’t know when you’ll arrive at next.
You don’t even know what next is.
But you do know one thing: it’s not what has been.
This is the liminal space I see most often in my clients.
You might crave clarity—but you also don’t want to choose wrong.
So, wisely (and perhaps a little begrudgingly), you pause.
You might say:
“This city isn’t it, but I have no idea what is.”
“The career that got me here? Not where I want to be. But... where do I want to be?”
“I’m itching for something—a project, a purpose, a spark—but all I’ve got is a vague craving and a blank page.”
These spaces stir up all the feels: instability, disorientation, and for us high-achievers, surprise: How do I not know what I want?!
It’s uncomfortable. Unstructured.
Hard to explain at dinner parties.
You don’t have a pithy elevator pitch.
You definitely don’t have an Instagram-ready life update.
You feel like you should know what comes next—but you don’t.
So… you wait. Pause. Move slowly.
Which, inconveniently (but actually ingeniously), might be the wisest move on the board.
Because this is where the better questions show up.
Where reinvention doesn’t begin with a five-year plan but with space.
With curiosity. With the deeply humbling act of not forcing it.
With loosening your grip on the story you’ve been living—without lunging for a new one just to have something to hold.
Of course, this liminal space comes with an itch.
Part of it’s internal: your body wants to move.
Part of it’s external: the world wants to know what you’re doing.
(“Any updates?” they ask, as if your life is a software release.)
But this space? It’s not a detour. It’s design space.
And the more you can resist the twitch to fill it too fast (I know, it’s hard, been there), the more room you create for something real to emerge.
So if you’ve said goodbye (IRL or in your head) but haven’t yet said hello—
You’re not lost.
You’re not drifting.
You’re gestating.
Which is a kind of forward motion.
But unlike the laser focus of goal-chasing, the momentum it calls for is light, exploratory, winding.
P.S. If you’re craving some structure to this movement, read on and join me next week…
Over the next five posts, I’m going to be sharing the five different types of liminal spaces, from most obvious to least. (Not for nothing, I’ve been through every one — more than once!)
If this space feels familiar to you, join me for Liminal by Design on May 9.
It’s a short, potent course to help you make sense of this moment—and take tangible action inside it.
You’ll also get the rest of this series delivered straight to your inbox when you sign up.
Photo via Unsplash