The In Between

I know I’m feeling the space right now. That space between what my life used to require of me and whatever is coming next.

For so many years, I ran on adrenaline and pressure to do, be and have. I was a single mom of two boys. There were cats, the dog,  a cleaning business, owning my own home and everything that came with keeping all of it going. I was always busy. I was tired before the kids were, and I was usually looking at the next day with some kind of strategy—and a little help from my kick-ass angel team, spirit guides and ancestors.

There was always something that needed me.

And now, there’s no push or pressure from the outside, only a feeling of my old self wondering what’s happening? Why aren’t we busy?

Maybe you’re an empty nester. Maybe you’re single or retired. Maybe the career that once gave your days meaning and structure is behind you. Maybe your basic needs are met, the kids are grown, and for the first time in decades nobody really needs you to be anywhere. It sounds wonderful. Until sometimes it isn’t.

Because what do we do with all this space?

I find myself asking questions I didn’t have time to ask when I was busy taking care of everybody and everything. Where do I begin? What do I focus on? Who do I want to spend my time with? Are there talents and gifts in me that I haven’t even discovered yet? Is my spiritual life engaged in this process? What relationships support me? Do I even have the relationships I want at this stage of my life?

And maybe the biggest question: How do I let myself be in this in-between without believing I should already know what’s next?

That’s the uncomfortable part for me. I’m not a sitter. Unless I’m reading a really good book.

I like to move. I like helping people. I like cleaning houses because there’s something satisfying about walking into a space, doing something useful and leaving it better than I found it. I like getting out and about. I like having a reason to go somewhere. So slowing down can sometimes feel like I’m at a stop sign waiting for it to turn green.

Except stop signs don’t turn green.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe I’m not supposed to sit here waiting for someone or something to give me permission to go. Maybe this part of life is asking me to choose.

For years, purpose was practically assigned to me every morning. Children needed me. Clients needed me. The house needed me. The animals needed me. Bills needed paying and meals needed making. There wasn’t much time to wonder what I wanted to do with a Tuesday afternoon.

Now there is.

And space can feel strangely similar to emptiness when we’ve spent decades being needed.

What if the space isn’t empty?

This is what I’m beginning to wonder. What if this isn’t a void at all? What if this is possibility?

Breathing easily. Time to read. A desk and my computer calling me to write.  An opportunity to sit outside with my coffee and not know what I’m doing afterward. I am more aware and grateful of life moving through me, it’s visceral now. I’m inspired to meditate and do breathwork regularly not just when I’m confused or worried. I’m letting myself write out one of my beloved, silly  lists—not necessarily a to-do list, but a list of possibilities. At one point in my life, when I was sitting on the beach in France I  started to write out this list, challenging myself to hit 1,000 to do, be or have. Perhaps this is a good time to start that again.

What would I like to learn? Where would I like to go? Who do I enjoy being around? What do I want to create? What haven’t I tried because I was too busy being good at the things I already knew how to do?

What if I let myself have a beginner’s mind again?

That’s a big one. At this age, we’ve accumulated so much knowledge and experience that it’s easy to stay where we’re competent. But there might be something wonderful about being terrible at something again. Learning a language. Picking up an instrument. Writing. Painting. Taking a class. Traveling somewhere alone. Studying something spiritual that makes absolutely no sense at first. Asking questions we thought we had already answered.

Maybe part of this in-between is allowing ourselves to become students again.

And what about purpose?

I think this is where many women get stuck. When you’ve spent much of your life caring for other people, working, raising children, managing a home or building a career, purpose and responsibility become tangled together.

If nobody needs me today, am I still useful? If I don’t accomplish something today, did I waste the day? If I’m sitting outside reading at two in the afternoon, should I be doing something else?

And underneath all of that might be an even quieter question:

Am I being enough?

Maybe the belief that needs shifting isn’t about what is possible for me. Maybe it’s the belief that I have to be productive to deserve this life.

I want to enjoy these moments of wonder without immediately turning them into a project. I want to notice something beautiful without wondering what I’m supposed to do with the feeling.

I want my spiritual life to be part of this—not as another assignment or another way to improve myself, but as a way of listening. Maybe prayer, meditation, gratitude and stillness aren’t taking me away from my purpose. Maybe they’re helping me hear it.

While you’re waiting, don’t wait.

I love this reminder because there are things in my own life I’m waiting for. People I’m waiting for. Answers I’m waiting for. Things I cannot control.

But I don’t want to spend this beautiful part of my life sitting in a waiting room.

I can remain available to the people I love without suspending my own life. I can care without carrying. I can leave room for someone else without leaving myself out of the room.

Maybe purpose at this stage doesn’t arrive as one giant revelation. Maybe it comes as cues or sometimes very small breadcrumbs.

A book I can’t put down. A conversation that wakes something up in me. A place I keep thinking about. Something I want to learn. Someone I want to know better. An idea I can’t quite shake. A quiet little yes.

And maybe instead of asking, What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I can ask something much kinder:

What would make the next six hours feel like mine?

That’s enough.

I don’t have to know what’s next. Neither do you.

Maybe we’re not lost.

Maybe we’re simply in-between.

And maybe there’s more life waiting to be discovered here than we ever imagined.

As life moves through us.

Audrey
Cued Coaching