In “Into the deep,” a prose piece I wrote about bipolar disorder, I wrote about liminal spaces, the in-betweens, and how these places are “a good place, a safe place to be,” and in that context, liminality can be a security blanket, a pane of glass providing distinction and boundary.
I’m now in a liminal place between two big shifts as I leave Halifax, my home of five years, for a new school, new city, new focus. At the time I first sat to write this down, it felt like everything but a security blanket. But now that I’m here in this space, it feels luxurious. I’m writing this from a train that is carrying me from Truro to Ottawa and my choice of slow travel now seems so appropriate for the in-between.
During my undergrad I took a course called “Myth America,” an in-depth look at the mythology/ideology of the States, where I read about ritual structure (which we then applied to popular culture but that’s a story for another day). Something that’s always stuck with me has been the role of the ritual as a path from A to B; to be within the ritual is to inhabit the in-between, the liminal place. Though I might not be inside a ritual as we might typically think of one, I’m definitely in the in-between and having that play out on a train feels good. It feels intentional and slowed down and like a big pause button on life.
I’ve been on the train for almost eight hours and the thought has crossed my mind how I could be at my destination right now had I chosen to take a plane. I think I made the right choice re: travel if only that being herded through airports in the middle of holiday season does not belong in my liminal space, even if there are loved ones at the end who I am anxious to see. The destination is the same; it’s how I get there that I can affect.
If you can travel through the in-between places slowly and intentionally, why wouldn’t you? To me, the alternative isn’t worth it.
Yours, from the liminal place.
Photo from Pixabay.