There is a stretch of time between the life you’ve outgrown and the one that hasn’t begun.

It’s not an ending. It’s not a beginning. It’s a quiet, dim, seemingly endless hallway.

There is nothing to do but keep walking. I call it thresholding.

Thresholding is the art of staying the path of the liminal in-between without running back or rushing forward. Humans often get pretty uncomfortable with this. We try to fix the silence, fill it, make it mean something. It’s safer to call it being stuck, unclear, uninspired. But it’s not that. It’s what happens when momentum meets maturity and you stop sprinting toward the next version of yourself and let the old one dissolve.

The body often reads stillness as danger. That’s why it feels wrong to get quiet and cut the chaos loop. It’s detox: from adrenaline, from striving, from producing, from self-sabotage ,from leaving yourself. The old rhythm is dying, and the new one just hasn’t arrived yet. That gap can feel unbearable and bewildering. It’s understandable that staying in it, with it, feels impossible.

So, this is where we often bail. We retreat to the safe familiar. Or we stir things up. Sometimes we chase the next rush. We may even call it purpose. But if you can stay still, curious, alert, and patient, something quieter begins to surface, and you start to hear what has been waiting beneath the noise. Not a grand revelation, just a soft reminder of what you knew was true all along. When you can stay with that, the next door opens.