When I stepped away from my 16 years in the Foreign Office, I left behind not just a career but a community, a rhythm, and a sense of identity. It was a huge privilege to have served, and walking away wasn’t easy. Almost immediately, well-meaning friends began asking me the question we so often ask in these moments:
“So, what’s next?”
At first, that question made me restless. I felt the pressure to figure everything out quickly — to have a clear answer, a new plan, a next step. But something inside me told me not to rush. Instead, I decided to pause. To sit with the uncertainty.
What I discovered was a word — and a reality — that changed how I view transitions: liminality.
What Is Liminality?
The word liminality comes from the Latin limen, meaning threshold. It was first described by anthropologist Arnold van Gennep in his study of rites of passage, and later expanded by Victor Turner. Liminality is that in-between space where the old is gone but the new has not yet fully arrived.
In William Bridges’ Transition Model, this is called the Neutral Zone. Otto Scharmer’s Theory U also points to it: the descent into letting go, the pause in the unknown, and the rise into new possibilities.
Liminality is not always comfortable. It can bring feelings of loss, denial, fear, sadness, or confusion. Yet it also carries extraordinary potential: curiosity, creativity, inspiration, and the possibility of transformation.
Why Liminality Matters
Whether you’re leaving a job, navigating divorce, stepping into parenthood, or simply moving from one stage of life to another, the liminal space is essential. Without it, we risk carrying old patterns into a new beginning.
The three phases of transition remind us:
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Endings – Letting go of what was.
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Liminality – The threshold: ambiguous, uncertain, creative.
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New Beginnings – Emerging into a fresh identity, role, or path.
Most of us are tempted to leap straight from endings to new beginnings. But true transformation happens only if we dare to dwell in the middle.
Nature’s Liminal Spaces
Nature itself is full of thresholds:
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The shoreline, where land and sea meet.
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Dusk and dawn, when day shifts into night and night into day.
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The seasons of spring and autumn, times of emergence and release.
These liminal zones are rich, dynamic, and alive with possibility. They remind us that change is not something to be rushed — it unfolds in rhythm with life itself.
A Personal Lesson
Looking back, I see that my own pause after leaving the Foreign Office was a liminal season. It was here, in the not-knowing, that new possibilities emerged. Coaching, facilitation, retreats, and a deeper connection with nature all found me because I hadn’t rushed into filling the space.
When Lexy and I welcomed participants to our first retreat, we introduced them to liminality. Together, surrounded by nature, people discovered that they weren’t alone in their in-between. Sharing that space — with curiosity and care — was profoundly enriching.
Taking Time in a World That Rushes
We live in a culture that values speed, certainty, and having answers. But liminality teaches us the opposite:
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Pause.
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Listen.
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Allow.
When you give yourself permission to linger at the threshold, you create room for deeper wisdom to arise.
An Invitation
The next time life throws you into transition — whether by choice or circumstance — resist the urge to hurry. Instead, step into liminality. Let yourself be in the in-between. Walk the shoreline. Watch the changing light. Notice the gifts of the threshold.
Because it is here, in the space of “no longer and not yet,” that you’ll find the seeds of your next beginning.
Take the time. Trust the pause. Liminality is not empty — it is fertile.
