On the increasingly diverse road that I’ve wandered down over the past year, I’ve developed a growing idiosyncratic affinity for in-betweens. I’ve slowly come to recognize these discreet places that unintentionally serve as a passage or segue into what’s Next.
The calm before the plunge.
Inhaling a few last wisps of sweet fall country air (the kind laced with crunchy leaves and rain soaked earth) while waiting for one of my favorite in-betweens, the disinclined yet ever-staunch train that always seems willing enough to deposit me efficiently from Home to University. That hour and a half of an in-between that casts its passengers into what feels like another world, one with distinctly more chaotic charms.
The pensive wait.
Recollecting what’s behind while trying to decipher the impending. Pensiveness is my choice however, because my in-betweens usually present themselves as fairly demure, tempting me to retire our time together in compliant entertainment, or cheaper yet, sleep. No, I’ve nothing to lose by sleeping away an in-between… but I don’t. Maybe I’m just restless, or maybe I find much more satisfaction in anticipation, in setting goals, envisioning dreams, and I’ll admit, usually basking in wistful nostalgia.
Existence is chock full of in-betweens. Some are as brief as a train ride while others encompass seasons and years of bated breathed straining toward the elusive, patient Next. No matter how different our in-betweens might be though, they all share that aspect of waiting. And as often as it feels more than appropriate to trudge through the wait or just move on to what’s Next, I’d rather take that moment, or hour, or year to consider the glory in the unexpected and the prospect of adventure that every Next entails.
In the two weeks that I have left at home before I fly off to Ireland, I can’t help but count down as I plan for my four months of Next in a very new place. But I’m counting with a grain of salt, and will be thoroughly enjoying the next two weeks of pleasant in-between.