Liminal Space

When we hear motivational speakers and self-help gurus speak about the importance and necessity of Change, they often fail to mention or acknowledge the overbearing feeling of loneliness that tends to come over you once you succeed at initiating it. We are always encouraged to change something about our behavior, our attitude, or our mindset when we’re feeling stuck in the rut our lives have become. Some of us commit fully to change, take inspired action to shift something monumental in our lives in order to combat the shameful feeling of stagnation. I am one of these people; I was a frog in a boiling pot, not realizing my stuck-ness until it was too late. In a desperation to change the course of my life, I made a choice to change something drastic: I moved across the country alone.

The decision to move felt impulsive at the time, but I knew somewhere deep down that this change was inevitable. I’d spent two months in my jobs, going through the same motions as before, but the knowledge I would not be there forever filled me with an odd feeling of what I can only call melancholic relief. It was as if everyone around me continued to go through the motions of their daily routine, but that I no longer felt tied to my own. Like something in the universe shifted to accommodate my decision. I said my goodbyes to my friends and family, and even my family pet, and with only the few things I could fit in my car, I began my cross-country trek from Massachusetts to Arizona.

As liberating as the journey was, I stopped in different states all across the country, and I was followed by this inexplicably lonely feeling regardless of where I went. Everything felt different in the southern part of the country. People in the south moved slower and talked more openly to strangers waiting beside them in line at fast food restaurants. From Georgia’s swaying willow trees and cobblestone streets to the big, glaring billboards littered along the I-20 in Texas, my sister and I drove through many different environments on our way to my new home.

When I arrived in Arizona, I was met with a brilliant sunset that stretched across mountaintops for miles on every side. There were rock formations that we’ve never seen before anywhere else, large cacti littered across the landscape, and tall desert palms stretched overhead. It was an entirely new environment compared to what I’d been raised around up in New England. Here, there are no blue lakes surrounded by lush forests. There are no densely packed pine trees. There is no crisp, cold autumn air, no salty sea breeze, no soft snow falls or white Christmases.

I quickly discovered upon arriving that I did not belong here. I felt like an outsider- like I was merely on vacation visiting, even after a year in this new place had passed. Suddenly there were new grocery stores and different slang terms for small, common items. I discovered some of my favorite restaurant chains didn’t exist here, and I discovered all of the new ones I’d never experienced in my home state. I had new friends who all had friends of their own outside of the group I was a part of. I had to learn new highways and exit numbers than the ones I always knew back home. I had to figure out a new healthcare system. It basically felt like I’d started all over again, and had finally earned my well-deserved freedom.

It felt lonely.

Nobody ever talks about that part of moving alone; about the sadness that wells up on mother’s or father’s day when you have nobody to spend it with, about your friends spending Christmas with their families and you having to sit home alone because you have no way to see your own. Nobody talks about how jarring it is to be thrown into a new place with no knowledge of where you are, when everyone around you speaks directions as if you understand the landmarks they’re referring to. As if you’re native.

No one talks about how, despite never quite feeling like you fit in, if you choose to go back and visit your old home again, nothing feels the same there either. Time passes and things change. You find out that businesses you grew up with have closed their doors, or that a new condo is going up in your old neighborhood. You find out that your mother has a new boyfriend, or that your sister switched jobs twice, and that your father is raising a toddler whose name you don’t even know, and you’re left wondering to yourself if you’ve really only been gone for a year, because suddenly it feels as if it’s been ages. You remember street directions, but there is a melancholy awareness that those things are no longer relevant to you. You begin to wonder if that is exactly as others see you now: as if you don’t need to be in the loop with current events in their lives, because you’re no longer relevant to them.

You realize that, when you make change and remove yourself from your environment, it does not wait on your return. Things continue as they do, regardless of whether or not you’re there to witness it. The world turns regardless of where you decide to root yourself, and you may choose to change that place in order to grow, or to evolve, but it sometimes comes with the painful understanding that you don’t really have a true “home” anymore. Your new state doesn’t feel like home, and neither does your old one anymore. It feels lonely, like you’re floating in the liminal space between places with no clear sense of where to go. Though, this sad realization also presents to us an opportunity. An opportunity to learn a very valuable lesson.

Home is not a place, and it never was.

Home is where you decide to build a foundation for yourself. Home follows you wherever you go. It’s found in the smiling faces you surround yourself with, in the pillows you cry into when things become too overwhelming, in the house you rented for a year or in the one you own for the rest of your life. Home is any place you feel safe, any place you can rest when the going gets tough, any place that brings you comfort and fulfills you. Home can be a house, or it can be a specific forest grove you go to in order to be alone and think. It can be a beach you love, the feeling you get in the car when your windows are down on the highway, or even a person. Home can be found in anything around us, in everything around us, and when we feel like we’re out of place or like we don’t belong, I think it’s important that we know what our own definition of home is, because once we know, we can discover it in anything, even in the things we fear most.

The awareness that comes with change is a double-edged sword; a blessing and a curse. It allows us to remove the blindfold we’ve carefully placed over our own eyes so we can see the path forward out of our stuck-ness, but it also brings our attention to the threats that surround us, most of which we were unaware of when our blindfold was on. Many people are scared of being lonely. Many people’s biggest fear is that they will one day die alone, with no one to surround or remember them when they’re gone. But, if we are present with ourselves, we are never truly alone. When you begin to question where your home lies, ask yourself these questions: Where can I find home within myself? Where within myself can I access the peace and the unconditional love I feel at home? How can I nurture this feeling? When you learn to find a home within yourself, I believe you never truly feel out of place. You welcome others into your life as you would guests within your home, and by doing so, you provide that little slice of home for those people. Most importantly, you feel at peace with yourself, nurture yourself more, and you learn that every opportunity for change, regardless of how scary it may feel in the moment, is a chance to expand your home somewhere new.

It took me a year and a half and an entire pandemic for me to learn that it never would have mattered where I moved to- but that the commitment to the change itself was the catalyst for becoming unstuck. If you feel a pull towards something, chase it with all you have, because the world won’t wait for you to take the leap. Choosing to chase personal evolution will make you feel out of place everywhere you go. It’ll make you aware that others chose not to do the same, but so long as you stay connected with your reason for embarking on the journey, you will feel okay with being the odd one out. Those who blend in are not those who make history. History is made by those who have surpassed their own expectations of what is possible.