This Liminal Life

Where I am right now.

Today I realised why I’m in this geographically liminal space.

I have never felt like these moves were a decision. Leaving Qatar, going to Spain and now in Ireland seemed to be natural progressions. Like riding a current. But what an odd current. So random and unexpected. 

I try not to dwell on what people think about what I’m doing. How strange it must seem that I did not rush back to Canada the minute I felt I could do no more in Qatar. Why did I not want to be in the comfort of familiarity where I knew the language and culture?  Specifically, why did I not rush back to be close to family and friends? Why was I not rushing home to find a job? 

Why indeed? I’ve wondered as well. 

I’m not sure I could have answered that question myself until today. 

Spain was a gift. In every way. I felt such peace there. It was beautiful and safe and so quiet. The sound of the birds, the trickling and rushing streams as the snow melted on the mountain peaks and made its way down, running by me with barely a wave. Doing what they do naturally. Not unlike my arrival there, they weren’t thinking about what they were doing, they were just doing the next natural thing. This was a perfect place for me, for this moment in time.

The most profound presence of course was the mountains.

At times I felt swaddled by them. 

Held.

Stilled.

Quieted.

They observed me and I, them.

They were not rattled by my sorrow. I did not deepen their wounds by exposing mine. Likewise, they were not confused or relieved by my joy. They didn’t judge - too sad for too long or too happy or “whew she’s feeling sound and happy, thank goodness the grief has ended” only to be alarmed when it resurfaced again with deep guttural intensity.

If the mountains were people I would have felt responsible for the rollercoaster of emotions I was taking them on.

No, the mountains just observe. They held space without wavering. They’ve seen this sorrow before; they are bigger than it. They are the broadest of shoulders.

Sometimes I feel lost in this stage of life, not knowing where to go or what to do next.  But in some strange way, at the base of the mountain, I’m not lost because it does not move. 

Now I am in Ireland. 

I have been quiet about sharing my travels because this is a very different kind of travel. 

I’m not sightseeing. I’m not eager to go and do things, except for walking, especially in nature. I’m not going and seeing and doing, I’m being in different places. I’m practising being.

I feel good here. Alone and away. I check in daily with friends and family and stay connected but I’m still in strange surroundings, finding my way. Everything is a new adventure to figure out. Where’s the grocery store, the laundromat, how do I take the bus and even, how do I use the shower? You’d think these things would be getting tiring (I’ve been living out of a suitcase since the middle of January). Yes, some days it gets old. I dream of unpacking my suitcase and being able to make a morning coffee without figuring out where the coffeemaker is and how to use it - but mostly it feels right to be doing this. 

Why? 

Because my external life is an almost perfect match to my internal life and the congruency is comforting. My life is almost unrecognizable. I have never been here before. 

“Wherever you are is called here

And you must treat it as a powerful stranger.”

David Wagner

If I stayed in Qatar I would be continuing to try to make something work that was over. I needed the year I spent there to come to terms with that. But going back to Canada right away, to things very familiar would highlight and maybe accentuate the other truth I’m coming to terms with - I’m not the same person who left almost 11 years ago. 

I’m changed. 

Changed by the experiences of the last 11 years but most certainly by the events of the last year and a half. 

I’m here. I am being in the present reality. But this now has never happened before and I have never been this person before. 

And I’m still getting to know myself.

So I’ll rest in this geographically liminal space because I am in a personally liminal space. 

And when I start to squirm, worry about what others think or question my sanity, I’ll remember the mountains in Spain. I’ll remember that they are still there, not moving. And I’ll know that I’m not lost, I’m just in a “now” that has never been before and I’ll bravely meet myself here.