The word liminal means being in an “intermediate state, phase or condition,” according to my Merriam Webster app. It is from the Latin limen or threshold. It is the experience of being between one thing and the other.

If I’m the one choosing to step over the threshold and move from one space into another the sensation can be exhilarating, or filled with trepidation.

But if the transition is out of my hands, if I have done everything I can and now just have to await the outcome, it can be agonizing. It’s not just the election. It’s waiting for the results of a medical test, an exam, a legal verdict, a custody hearing. It’s being stuck in the hallway, one door slammed behind you and the next one not opened yet. Waiting. It can be hell.

I have a tendency to try to rush through, to time travel forward to the moment I know the answer, and pretend I’m through the liminal space. I’ll imagine the terrible outcome first, the worst-case scenario, and then plan for how I’ll survive. Again.

Then I’ll tentatively prod at an imagined outcome that is more positive. Because I struggle with hope, the naked edge of intense longing that may be thwarted. Again. Hope is a blade. I handle it carefully.

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