Nowhere but Here
Do you have places in your life that are strikingly “in-between”? Not quite here, but not yet there either. A liminal threshold splicing you between two worlds, which can often leave you feeling nowhere. Fingertips barely scratching something to hold onto, something familiar, that is just out of reach. Neither this nor that, these third places can cleve your being in a multitude of ways.
You may experience a third, thin place in a season of transition, in a time of grief, during crisis or trauma, as a diagnosis is delivered, or when your identity and experience refuses to fit neatly into the boxes predetermined by society. The curious thing about third places is that you never really expect them to show up. Yet they arrive, sometimes unexpectedly, ripping you from where you’ve been and where you thought you’d be, dropping you in another space. But there are third places you can count on, that always provide the transience of life. I am currently in a rather massive third place: the Charlotte airport.
It is universally understood that an airport is the best location to people-watch. It’s like one great social experiment that proves the human condition. The turbulent tossing of people and luggage as we all exist somewhere that is neither our final destination, nor is it home. Families overwhelmed at the mental and physical strain of jostling small children and all of their belongings across concourses and cafeterias. Professionals racing hither and thither, crowing jargon like “monetizing data” and “immersion experience” into their headset or earbuds. Vacationers toting souvenirs and local t-shirts commemorating a trip to the Grand Canyon or Disney World. All of it reflects the chaos of being in a liminal space.
The third place is rarely comfortable, either because we didn’t want it, didn’t expect it, or don’t know how to make sense of it now that we’re there. Being at the airport usually makes me feel a touch anxious, mostly because I am thinking of every irrational thing that could go wrong. (I have watched the Final Destination movies too many times.) With a race of adrenaline and the ticking clock of departure, my body never feels quite settled. I am not supposed to be here; I need to get there. Suddenly everything in between those two poles of stability becomes an obstacle, preventing me from peace and comfort.
On a recent vacation to London and Ireland, my wife and I endured many rounds of airports. My energy took on its usual form, hurried and harrowed. Alongside a backpack and suitcase that threatened to burst open from being dangerously beyond its intended capacity, I carried inside me a creeping sense of dread and panic. I would think of everything that could go wrong, that we would miss our flight (which we almost did at one point, but that’s a story for another time), that something violent would happen. Catastrophe was just around the corner. But then I would notice my wife, how calm she was. Relaxed, smooth like still water, she coasted through every obstacle that I was a mess over. She would constantly remind me, “We’re okay. Everything’s fine. We will get there.” And you know what? We were, it was, and we did.
It struck me that whether I was panicked or relaxed, these obstacles would still come. Being in transitional, third places can signal your nervous system to go into full alert. Things are not how they used to be, all hands on deck! No, it’s not how it used to be. It’s not home. You’re tired, the directions are unclear, and there are no snacks. What would happen if we radically accepted the weird, uncomfortable newness of the transition? If we followed the foundational rule of improv comedy and said “Yes, and” to all we receive in the flux? Not because we deserve it, not because we don’t, but because it will show up regardless.
I am not saying every problem merits a laissez-faire attitude. Crisis, overwhelm, and despair are so very warranted throughout our lives. When we find ourselves at an airport, a transition, a third place, I wonder what we might experience if could hold the fear or anger in one hand (even if it’s a clenched fist), but at the same time held the other hand open willing to receive what comes our way? There might be stress, or even pain. And there could also be surprising gifts. The unknown invites us to notice joy and sorrow, lament and hope, fear and peace. And everything in between. Why? Because when we reside in neither here nor there, everything is on the table. Possibility and expanse and wilderness and curiosity. Strange gifts that reveal more about us and our faith and our world as we find our way.
You may be stumbling about in chaos, unsure of the unknown. It may bring you fear and panic, and that is so very normal and okay. Alongside the fear, you may also notice room being made within you to welcome the everything around you. Because once you’ve found your way, when you’ve made it home, settled and at ease, another third place will come. Transition is just around the corner. I pray that you and I both find a way to embrace the everything. And may we know deep within our calm or racing hearts that Everything is embracing us back.
You are held and you are loved. In the sure and in the unknown. At home and out in the wilderness. In everywhere in between and in the nowheres and not-yet-theres. In everything, held and loved.
If you would like to talk more about your faith, your calling, your spirituality, or other matters of the soul, I’d love to connect. You may find spiritual direction a set aside space to help you feel held and heard. Visit the Schedule page to make an appointment today. We are being made new, together.
