This time of year always feels like an in-between space. We are out of our regular routine to celebrate the holidays with family. With all the preparation and organization involved in making magic happen for two young kids, and hosting family for Christmas, there is barely a moment to spend looking ahead. So I wait to cross the threshold into the new year and anticipate that there will be some time and effort spent before settling into a more balanced state.
Maybe because of this seasonal limbo, I am thinking a lot about my experiences of living in the liminal space. The in-between, neither here nor there, the transitions. There have been so many of these for me.
As the child of separated parents who lived far apart from each other, I was regularly in transition from one home to another. This transition took me not only from one household and set of values with my mom, to another with my dad, but also meant traveling between time zones and cultures.
In the early years of my life I lived most of the time in Montana with my mom. During the summer and over the winter break I would travel to New York to spend time with my dad, stepmom, and half-sister. At mom’s house I ate brown rice, brown bread, tofu, and goat milk; at dad’s house I learned how to ride a bike and celebrated Hannukah. In Montana I walked the few blocks to school every day in my small town with the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains all around. In New York I felt the buzzing energy of the city that never sleeps and dreamed of one day performing on a Broadway stage.
Later my mom moved us to England, adding another layer of complexity to my liminal existence, adding a new culture into the mix. I loved living in England. For some magical reason I landed in a place where my peers welcomed me with open arms, even though I was clearly an outsider. My obvious outsider status (the American accent was a dead giveaway) provided a perfect icebreaker, and I felt accepted and appreciated, not in spite of my difference but because of it.
For my junior and senior years of high school I chose to leave for boarding school back in the US. I was ambitious and for some reason believed that I needed the rigor and prestige of this particular institution. Yet another transition, this one purely my choice, but filled with ambivalent feelings of excitement and loss. And boarding school was a culture shock, more so than moving to another country. But in my chameleon-like style developed over so many years of navigating different environments, I figured out my own way of fitting in.
I could go on. I could talk about my experience of spending time with my grandparents, who inhabited a world of privilege and Boston elite values. I could explore the transition from boarding school to college, which really left me reeling and feeling out of touch with my peers. I could write about the transition from school to the “real world”, figuring out how to make a living and start a career. And of course the transition to motherhood was one of liminality as I navigated the shift from my previous identity to a new evolving self-image centered on parenting.
So much of my life, especially during formative periods, has been an experience of being in-between. This liminality may in fact be one of the most constant and consistent elements of my life. And lately my mind has been ruminating on that reality.
For the most part I see the positives. The skills that I’ve developed through my experiences that benefit me today. I know that learning to navigate so many different social environments helps me to understand and feel compassionate towards all kinds of people. This is helpful when I work with people as a mediator, as I can often genuinely understand all perspectives and create a bridge for understanding between individuals. I also know that my diverse experiences within different cultural contexts has helped me to develop greater perspective and understand that there are many ways to live and love. Having this perspective allows me to make more conscious choices for myself and my family, outside of one particular model or social construct.
As much as I value my experiences and the gifts that have come as a result, I also think it’s important to acknowledge that so much transition was hard. Being able to fit in and succeed within each cultural context meant that it was harder for me to really explore my own identity. And in some ways I understand other people better than I understand myself, and I still struggle to feel a sense of belonging. As a parent myself, I strive to provide stability and rootedness for my own kids, and I see how much they thrive with predictability and routine. I want them to know themselves and to know that they don’t have to bend so far to fit into to other people’s expectations. By striving to create an environment of belonging for my children, I also benefit and heal some pieces of myself. It’s all a work in progress.
