Every year, the time between November 1 and January 1 feels to me like time apart. The old year is receding; the new year is emerging, and this is the between time. Liminal time.
This year everything feels especially liminal, because we're moving in a month or so. It doesn't feel entirely real. It's hard to know what lies ahead.
There's a lot of work to be done to get ready for all this. One way or another, I'm sure I'll do what's necessary.
And yet, for the most part, most astonishingly, the feelings I have are not urgent or particularly anxious. Instead, there is this remarkable stillness and peace. Mystery, but a quiet mystery. Liminality.
I hope I can continue to enjoy this. That would be wonderful.
This year everything feels especially liminal, because we're moving in a month or so. It doesn't feel entirely real. It's hard to know what lies ahead.
There's a lot of work to be done to get ready for all this. One way or another, I'm sure I'll do what's necessary.
And yet, for the most part, most astonishingly, the feelings I have are not urgent or particularly anxious. Instead, there is this remarkable stillness and peace. Mystery, but a quiet mystery. Liminality.
I hope I can continue to enjoy this. That would be wonderful.
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