I’m currently sitting in our re-arranged living room with my uncle’s painting of our wild northern woods behind me, a lavender plant next to me and the air diffuser spreading the aroma of black spruce and lavender - smelling old and woodsy, just like our old family home where I spent many childhood summers at. A big house with a forest; a river with little islets; a boat, far away from anything tech, electricity and various modernities such as a shower or an electric stove. I can feel how I’m constantly torn between my fascination of modernisation and the need of a grounding surrounding. However, today’s setting makes me fine with living in the city, with only an aftertaste of longing for something a little wilder.
I’ve spent many months waiting for the feeling of “the beginning of a new year” which usually never waits longer to show its presence than until the month of February. I’ve figured that this year of mine perhaps is a little different and not necessarily beginning and ending in tune with the Gregorian calendar and that my beginning is still about to happen. With so many hard things we’ve had to go through this year I’ve spent such a huge amount of time on just surviving and healing, a season of in-between which sometimes has a tendency to feel stagnant.
I’ve mostly never known how to make sense of in-betweens. Seasons of waiting for the final words in one chapter and also for the opening statement of the next. Teetering between letting go and beginning.
I compare this stage much to brewing coffee. The moment where you’re just standing there waiting as coffee powder and hot water comes together and transforms.
Or perhaps it can be compared with the end of a pregnancy. You are in a state of being somewhere between one place and another both metaphorically and literally.
The in-between is not a pause, you’re still moving but perhaps the directions fall a little vague. You’re not completely clueless but you’re not necessarily sure either.
What might seem like being stuck or unwillingly being set on pause is in reality a call for transformation if you look below the surface. You’re still moving. You’re collecting. Thoughts. Patterns. Habits. Art. Words. Values. Not being fully able to express, create or begin, but in a state of gathering. Putting it all together, tying up ends - what you’ve learnt, experienced and collected this far. It’s a process of simply letting things arise and unfold as you become.
I would like to call it “The Season of Gathering”, because it paints a pretty picture. And It’s present in some way - nearly promised in life as life ebbs and flows.
So how do we better deal with these in-between seasons, except for acknowledging their function?
Well, most things are figureoutable. And I’ve found that gratitude helps.
We wake up every day to a world that needs us. We just need to keep our asses on the road even though we don’t know exactly where we’re heading. We have to keep our feet grounded and solid just where we are until the next phase is ready to greet us.
I’m not sure I’ll ever really like these seasons, but looking at them this way at least gives them a wonderful purpose.