Last week was kind of wanky. I had a moody and weepy weekend followed by a week of wanting to shrivel up and retreat. Then I gained some insight into authenticity and had a bit more room to breathe. Once I started to unpack my new home, however, all kinds of uncomfortable feelings emerged. I could feel myself shrinking with every box I opened. I could sense myself feeling more and more trapped.

In part, I was feeling overwhelmed by things. 95% of my stuff has been in storage for the better part of a year. Last May, I carried just 14 pounds of stuff on my pilgrimage. After that, I lived out of a couple of suitcases and boxes. I’ve gotten used to having few things, and I actually really enjoyed it.

Now I’ve got lots of stuff. Dishes. Pots and pans. Linens. Clothes. So many clothes! Bathroom toiletries. Back-up bathroom toiletries. Lamps. Rugs. Art. Altar items. And so much more! I’ve always been pretty intentional in terms of what I buy and keep, and I love what I have, but I do feel distinctly heavy having it.

I’ve also been following what’s familiar. I’ve been taking actions consistent with the kinds of actions I’ve taken in the past. I’ve been easily and naturally following the Annie Rose trajectory that is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. I’ve basically been putting structures back into place that support the old me. I’ve been returning to a life I once lived. It was a wonderful life, but it is not the life in front of me now.

I’ve been given this incredible opportunity to invent myself newly. I’m without an established career, I’ve just moved to a new city, and I have a new house. I have a blank slate on which to create. I can choose to fill my actual and metaphorical home with stuff that returns me to my past and makes me heavy, or I can fill them stuff that propels me into the future and makes me light and free.

I choose lightness and freedom. My heart chooses them. My mind chooses them. My life chooses them.

This week I am embarking on a journey into lightness and freedom. In particular, I’m focusing on the following:

• Creating a structural (physical) environment that supports and calls for my self-expression
• Refining my diet and exercise routine for a healthy, happy, and light body
• Practicing discernment and awareness as I give my word to people and opportunities
• Tapping into my hidden dreams and deepest desires
• Creating a plan to pursue my dreams and deepest desires
• Listening for what the world wants from me that is mine to give

Some structures I’m putting into place are:

• Daily yoga (Monday-Friday)
• Daily walks, runs, or surf-sessions (Monday-Friday)
• Eating impeccably (Monday-Friday)
• Unpacking the stuff that I absolutely love and that fully supports my self-expression; putting stuff that doesn’t light me up back into the garage (or giving it away)
• Completing with people and activities that I’ve given my word to that are not my self-expression
• Journaling and exploring some of my deepest desires
• Doing my Landmark homework for my Money seminar thoroughly and with integrity
• Designing the rooms in my house to call me into divine action

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Apparently I just can’t stop blogging!

So what is authenticity? It seems to have a million faces.

There’s confessing what’s really for you and telling one on yourself.

There’s asking the question that you really want to ask (without beating around the bush).

There’s saying what you really mean to say without softening or otherwise adjusting it.

There’s being fully self-expressed; being who you really are and owning it.

There’s owning whatever your expression is in that moment (happy, sad, confused, uncertain, annoyed, etc.).

There’s saying what’s really on your mind, even if you don’t have to.

There’s being honest and truthful.

I have so many questions about authenticity. Do we always have to be authentic? Is it even possible to always be authentic? Is there sometimes value in lying and being inauthentic? Is there sometimes purpose in lying and being inauthentic? Is authenticity good? Is inauthenticity bad?

My friend and I think that our intuition sometimes tells us that it’s not safe to be authentic. We both said that we really honor and appreciate that. At the same time, we both think that the world would be a better place if everyone could be authentic all the time. We’d all know exactly where we stand, all the time. That would be so freeing! Think of what we could devote our lives to if we weren’t busy navigating inauthenticity or bullshit. Very interesting!

I have no idea how to smoothly transition to this next section, so I’ll just do so by being authentic that I don’t know (see how easy that is? And now I don’t have to waste time thinking about a transition!).  

As I’m writing this, I’m thinking about how I express various levels of myself with different people. Each person gets a particular level of authenticity from me.

I’ve often thought and heard people say that we should strive to be ourselves in any situation—that there should be some expression of ourselves that is consistent across time and space. I tend to agree with that, and I’ve definitely worked to be more of myself in more situations and to cease distinguishing between “work Annie Rose,” “play Annie Rose,” “friend Annie Rose,” “stranger Annie Rose,” and so on. I’ve strived to be who I am, no matter who I am with.

But is not sharing who you really are sometimes an act of authenticity?

Also, there’s being inauthentic—not sharing what’s truly happening—and then there is, as Landmark would say, being authentic about your inauthenticity. So I can choose to say, “I notice I’m being inauthentic.” I can then choose to share what’s really true for me, or, in my opinion, I can say, “I see I’m being inauthentic, and I’m going to continue to do so.” I think that’s authentic. I can also say, “I’m not going to be authentic because you’re a judgmental jerk and I don’t trust you” (totally authentic in some cases) or “I’m not going to be authentic because I’m still processing something and not ready to share what’s mine to share” (also totally authentic).

I also think we have to distinguish authenticity from other things. A few people have mentioned to me that we are sometimes inauthentic to protect others. I agree, and I sometimes do that. However, we are still inauthentic. We are inauthentic with good and even loving intentions, but we’re still inauthentic. Perhaps our concern is authentic, but our actions are not. Perhaps our love is authentic, but what we’re saying is not. Or maybe it is authentic, but it’s not the truth.

Is there a difference between authenticity and truth?

My friend and I also said that cultivating and providing a space in which people can be authentic is equally important to being authentic. Authenticity must have a space to land. Well, technically it doesn’t—we can all say whatever we want whether people accept us or not. But damn, it’s so nice when people provide a safe space.

So how do we be more authentic in our lives? How do we begin to trust that process? How do we begin to peel away the layers? Landmark helps. Yoga helps. Education helps. Lots of things help.

I told you yesterday that I have a friend with whom I agreed to share everything. We also agreed that we would always love and honor each other.

I have another friend with whom I have an agreement to say the really hard things—the things that are too nasty, mean, and awful to say to anyone. Sometimes we talk on the phone and in person and say, “Ok, what’s the really awful thing that you want to say that you can’t say?” Isn’t that cool? We say all of our horrible nasty shit, and we love each other, laugh with each other, and hold space for each other.

All of this comes from Landmark Education, by the way. They are fiercely dedicated to creating a world in which authenticity is the norm.

Anyway (enter next awkward transition), I think agreement is a powerful tool for creating a space for authenticity. We can agree to be authentic with people in our lives, even if only one or two of them. It can literally be an agreement of the relationship. A vow of sorts. It provides such an empowering context. We can say, “Let’s agree with each other to always be authentic, and let’s stand by each other’s sides as we do. It might get messy, but let’s do it. Let’s always be real with each other.”

I’ll be calling several of my friends to make this agreement explicitly over the next couple of days. I’ll also acknowledge anything I notice that’s in my way of being authentic with them.

You can even use this blog as an excuse to ask for authenticity. “Hey, I read this blog about authenticity. Want to try it?” Simple as that.

I love you! Thank you for reading my blog and engaging with me!

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I’ve been having all kinds of thoughts about authenticity. It is a rich and dynamic subject! I’ve been talking to some of my friends about it and plan to reach out to a few more on Thursday to discuss some ideas (Elizabeth and Sho–be ready!). I’ll probably share what I learn on Friday. We will see!

For today, I have a guest post from my mom. She sent me this last night, and I think it’s lovely and connected to authenticity. Enjoy!

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Thank you, Jackie Robinson

I just finished watching Ken Burns’ documentary about Jackie Robinson. It brought forth in me a curiosity about voice. Voice is a powerful tool in revolution—in moving forward with a momentous leap in the evolution of humanity. Jackie Robinson was a symbol of the evolution of civil rights in America, and he searched for his voice throughout his lifetime.

He often had to wait before he could express his voice, and in some cases, people only heard his voice after he was gone. But he did have a voice, and he used it.

This makes me look at my own voice and the revolutions I partake in daily.  It is sometimes easy to speak, especially in those times that a wrong is so obvious that my voice comes out naturally and with power and truth behind it.  As Jackie experienced, that voice is not always applauded or accepted.  But there is a peace that occurs within that carries one through those uncomfortable moments of disagreement.  There are also moments when issues are not as clear – that are grey.  Where does voice stand at those times?

I think back to the late sixties and early seventies when people my age had a loud voice against the Vietnam War.  Some voices called all soldiers murderers.   I was “grey” about that because my brother was putting his life on the line in Vietnam.  I did not see him as a murderer.  I saw him as a young boy trying to discover discipline and to define himself as a young man.

Jackie Robinson was looking for a president who would bring equal rights to African Americans.  He was in the “grey” as he and his perspectives changed from Independent to Republican to Democratic.  But the whole time, he stood up, and he gave his voice.  A thing to be admired.

We live in a society that revers black or white, right or wrong, and often leaves no place for grey.  No wonder we cannot move forward!  We do not exercise our voices because we think that if we don’t express our voice in black or white, right or wrong, we’ll be ignored or even hated. We live in a grey world, but we’re restricted to black or white. In such an environment, it seems like it’s best to say nothing.

But Jackie had a voice throughout his life, and he made it heard. And guess what? He often changed his mind! He played in the grey. I contend that this is how he found his true voice—he was willing to take a stand, and he was willing to change his stand. And, he was always willing to give his stand a voice, whether or not it was popular or misinterpreted.

One of Jackie’s disappointments was that he was not given the chance to become a manager in baseball because he was Black.  A few days before his death, he was honored at the World Series.  When he spoke to the crowd, he graciously thanked everyone for the opportunity he had to play major league baseball and he voiced that he would not be content until he saw a black face as 3^rd base manager.

What does this give to me?  I am inspired by his courage to speak out in midst of being in the “grey”; of his being willing to change his mind when he discovered that his chosen political party wasn’t giving him what he thought they could and voicing his dissatisfaction. I am moved by him voicing his “stand” until his dying day.

We, most of us really, live our lives in the grey. Our lives are neither black nor white, right nor wrong. Our lives are lived in the in between. Yes, we have moments of clarity, and those moments allow us to be at peace with our voice. However, we must learn to be at peace with our voice during the moments of grey. It is okay to later eat our words. It is okay to be wrong or to be on the wrong side.

We gain power when we stand in the grey and we speak up.

If you are uncertain, speak your uncertainty! A conversation can only begin when you express your voice and when you can hear another person’s voice.  Conversation is what moves us forward in our human evolution. Speak! Be willing to get it wrong. Be willing to change your mind. Be willing to find your voice, your stand, your impossible promise for the world.

List what you stand for. Put your stand(s) on your bucket list and speak them into existence, no matter the consequences.  Be humble in your humanity and powerful in your voice.

Thank you, Jackie Robinson, for showing us the way.

Lavonna Stathes

Here I am, writing my blog after I said I wouldn’t this week.

Soon after I declared my hiatus, I emailed my friend Elizabeth: “Can I email my private blogs to you? I want to say whatever the fuck I want to say without everyone reading them. But I also want to share them and have a structure for writing them.”

“Of course,” she said.

Then I noticed myself editing what I might send to her. What is too private? What is too secret? What is too revealing? Is there anything that I can say that she can’t be with?

Then I realized that I chose not to blog this week because I bumped up against my capacity to be authentic. There’s a degree to which I’m willing to share, and a degree to which I’m not.

I wonder about that. I mean, I understand it—it’s not as though our society welcomes full authenticity with open arms—but I wonder about it.

What am I so afraid of?

It’s not just the readers of my blog with whom I’ve bumped up against my capacity to be authentic. It’s present in at least two of my close, personal relationships. I am honest and forthright to a certain extent, but there is this moment when I decide that I cannot say the next thing. There is this moment that I stop trusting that it’s safe. There is a limit, I believe, to what the other can be with in me.

There are parts of me that are secret. Most of the time I feel justified in protecting those parts. They’re mine, and they’re personal. But they’re also the most raw aspects of my humanity. They’re the parts of me that I actually long to share. I long to be able to say, “Here is exactly what I’m feeling and experiencing” and to know that the listener will still love, honor, and cherish me. And, if I’m really honest, I actually hope that the listener will love me even more. I hope that he or she will see a fuller version of me and hold me in my fullness. That is what I really long for.

So what am I afraid of?

I’m afraid that they won’t be authentic in response. I’m afraid that they’ll protect my feelings, protect themselves, or otherwise withhold. I’m afraid that I’ll lay myself bare and that they will not say what’s authentic for them in return.

I’m afraid that I’ll be authentic, and they’ll be offended, confused, or hurt. I do not like impacting people in that way.

I’m afraid that they’ll start to pull away from me, and that I won’t know for sure that they are. I’m afraid of being in that awkward and vulnerable place where the status of our relationship is uncertain.

I’m afraid of feeling disconnected and not knowing how to fix it.

I’m afraid of making a mess of things. I’ve noticed that being authentic is like peeling away layers of an onion. I say what I think is authentic, but as soon as I say it, something else reveals itself and I realize that it is what’s actually authentic. Then I say that thing, and oops, that’s not it, and now it’s something else. I’m so uncomfortable in that process, and I often wonder, will this person bear with me? Is this ok? When will he or she have enough? Will I ever figure out what the fuck I authentically want to say?

Ultimately, I’m afraid of being with some of the consequences of being authentic.

Interestingly enough, I notice that I’m not afraid of losing someone if they tell me straight up that I’m losing them.

I’m most afraid of my authenticity being met with inauthenticity. I’m ok with hard, challenging, awkward conversations—I just want them to be real.

I’m not sure what to say here, or how to end this blog. I just wanted to share what I noticed.

Also, I have one friend with whom I have a clear promise that we can share anything. And I think we do. At least I do. And it’s no surprise that I feel incredibly seen, safe, and known with her.

I want agreements like that with more people, and I want to know it’s safe. I want to provide that space for others too. I want to be the kind of person who can be with anyone, no matter what, and to see them—all of them.

I want authenticity, and I want it to be our norm.

If you’re reading this, this is my invitation to engage in authentic relationship with me. I know it takes time to build trust, and I know it can get messy. But I’m someone who is willing to take that ride with you.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Dear friends,

I have this paper at my altar that says, “Identity, healing, and self-love are personal journeys.” It’s my reminder that I am responsible for my own experience. It reminds me to look within and to bow with great honor to a journey that is mine alone to take.

I need some time to myself this week. I’m craving silence, simplicity, and solitude. I’m craving space to think and to be, and to interact with my own private journey.

And so I am taking a break from writing my blog. I will definitely be back next Monday, ready to engage in a new adventure.

Until then, my loves, I wish you a lovely, fulfilling, adventurous, and satisfying week.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

As this week comes to a close, I’m struck by the idea that living in the middle and honoring the process comes down to living life. Really living it.

My friend Kristine captured this sentiment in a quote she shared: “you will be lost and unlost. over and over again. relax love. you were meant to be this glorious. epic. story.”

Our lives are indeed epic stories. Every single one of them. No one on this earth is without an epic story. Yet we fail to acknowledge as such. We fail to our honor our processes and those of others.

As we live life, we move in and out, up and down, around and around. All of nature is designed this way. Everything is constantly moving. Everything is transitioning through a process. Think of the tides. Think of the solar system. Think of the seasons. Think of the life cycle.

We have no reason to resist our nature other than our social conditioning that tells us we must.

We can change our social conditioning. We can become aware of it, acknowledge it, and let it go. We can soften. We can be lost and unlost. We can be our epic stories by embracing our humanity as it is.

We can do any number of things to be in the middle and honor the process. We all have a responsibility to do so. We can no longer base our lives on that which extends no farther than the corners of our own rooms. We must contribute what we can to our collective story.

We must give ourselves space to experiment, explore, and fail. I think our society pushes us to do things perfectly. Mistakes are punished, and people judge us based on our competencies. To mess things up and not know what we’re doing are criminal offenses. We often lose jobs, relationships, opportunities, admiration, and credibility for not having it all together. Is this not ridiculous? Is this not completely contradictory to the human spirit? In a quote that I shared on Facebook this week, Buckminster Fuller said, “The true business of people should be to go back to school and think about whatever it was they were thinking about before somebody came along and told them they had to earn a living.”

What in the world would we do if earning a living were a concept that did not exist?

What would we think about?

What actions would we take?

How would we treat each other?

We’ve come to believe that we have to earn our right to be human.

This must end, my beloveds. We must do right by each other.

We must be willing to face what’s in front of us with courage and power. We must learn how to embody our human right to brilliance, happiness, and peace. We must embrace ourselves and others and LOVE ourselves and others as we’re whipped through the washing machine of life.

We must give ourselves and others room. We must forgive. We must embrace. We must soften.

We are ok. We are safe. We are, when we let ourselves be, “the middle” embodied. When we honor that, we honor the process.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Part 4.

Tonight I went to a level 3 (challenging for me) yoga class. Toward the end, as I lay in crocodile pose, the yoga teacher said, all that you have to do now is soften. Nothing else. Just soften. Perhaps that’s true.

I had this thought today: peace exists exactly where I am. All I have to do is be there.

We spend much of our mental-time in the past or the future. When we do, the middle exists. When we cease to relate to a past or a future, neither of which actually exists, we eliminate the middle. What’s available when we cease to relate to a middle?

My friend Shoshanna mentioned the other day that for her, the liminal space—the space in between where you were and where you will be—is a space of pure possibility. I agree. The middle can be the liminal space when we let go of our attachment to where we were (the past) and our speculation of where we might end up (the future). What’s available in a space informed by neither past nor future?

I went to my money seminar on Wednesday night, and the Landmark Forum leader said something like, you know the dash on the between your years of birth and death? That tiny little line is all you get. That’s your whole entire life. It’s short as hell. What are you going to do with it? That little dash is the middle. The middle between life and death always exists, even if you have no relationship to past or future. Who are you being and what are you doing in that middle? Who could you be and what could you do in that middle?

When we’re in the middle, there’s this breath-taking moment when we let go of what once was. It can be scary as shit. But when we let go, we invite something truly new to emerge. We invite in new versions of ourselves and our lives.

As we’re allowing something new to emerge, we can help it along by doing things differently. Even changing simple things—the order in which we dry off our body parts after a shower, the way we drive to work, or the name we call our spouse, for example—can stimulate newness in times of transition. Newness facilitates power and possibility.

Here are some questions I have for you:

• What do you want in your life that you haven’t yet gone after? When are you going to go after it?
• What are you willing to embrace in your life right now that you’ve thus far been resisting?
• How can I be of service to you? What kind of service does our world most need?
• What would our world be like if we all softened and let go of what was? What would happen if we truly created from the space of the unknown?

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

PART 3

I believe that the body provides a reflection of the world and everything in it. We can study our bodies and understand any issue or phenomenon happening in society. If I can understand how my body operates, I can understand how our world operates. I find that really fucking cool.

I turned to my body today to learn about the middle. I asked my body, what can you tell me about being in the middle, being in process, and being in life?

Here’s what it said:

The middle is messy.

It’s all guts, blood, puss, and poop. (Wow. That might be the grossest sentence I’ve ever typed.)

Think of the middles of our bodies. They are filled with so much messy stuff. If we stripped away our skin, we would expose all kinds of craziness. None of it would be clean. All of it would be messy.

Most of us avoid our messy insides. We turn our heads during gory scenes. We’re grossed out when we see vomit. We quickly flush after we poop. We avoid anything that isn’t the outside. We hide, avoid, and ignore the inside.

When we’re in the middles of life, we’re in the mess. We’re in the conflicting thoughts and emotions. We’re in the what-ifs. We’re in the I dunnos. We’re in the tears, the pain, and the confusion. We’re in the risks, the chances, and the unknowns.

We’re in the guts of life, and we would rather turn our heads.

But here’s the deal. The middle is where life lives. Ask any body what it would do without the middle, and it would tell you that it would die.

The middle gives the body life. The middle gives the human life. The middle contains the processes that keep life living.

The middle contains the inside. The middle is the inside.

When we’re faced with a middle in life, we’re granted a unique opportunity to witness the inside. We’re given a profound moment to observe our inner workings and to bow to that which gives us life. We’re invited to strip away our superficial skin. We’re invited to witness what’s within.

Our middles are arguably the most messy and disgusting parts of our bodies. But they’re also where the magic happens. They are where breath lives and hearts beat. They are where the body comes to life.

When you are in the middle, you have an opportunity to awaken to life. You have an opportunity to embrace your mess and notice that it gives you life.

The middle is where life lives. The middle is where you live.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Random Thoughts:

• The whole entire mess is part of a life-giving and sacred process.
• I have two friends with whom I regularly discuss bowl movements.
• Being in the middle sometimes feels like being submersed in a colon.
• When I’m in the middle and let go of control, I feel like I’m sitting on the most beautifully beating heart and being held by the source of life.

PART 2

My mind got a little trippy after my blog post yesterday. I started to think about the middle and all of its impacts on life. Then I got all Alan Watts on it and really got crazy. I typed an entire six pages on whether or not a middle can actually exist and what its existence or lack thereof means for the human condition. It was one of those pieces that made total sense as I wrote it, but when I went back…well, let’s just say there’s a reason I’m not posting it today.

Here’s what I’m present to: the human mind is a crazy thing. Our entire world and everything in it is operated by neurology. How strange is that? People starve because of the organization of our neurons. Our neurons created capitalism, inequality, ecological violence, and so much more. Our neurology also keeps that stuff in place.

As I’m typing this, I’m sitting at a Whole Foods in Los Angeles. Hundreds of people have walked in and out and are busy milling around. I’m trying to look at them as a collection of particles being walked and moved around by neurons. When I tap into that, I see a giant circuit board operating in front of me and around me. I’m a part of it, of course. We’re a collection of machines being moved by biology. How weird is that? I feel a bit like I’m surrounded by robots right now.

I’m struck now by the futileness of resisting the process. A computer boots up exactly as fast as it boots up. It also takes the exact amount of time it does to power down. Food takes a certain amount of time to cook. Water takes a certain temperature to boil. Lights take a certain amount of energy to turn on. Everything takes a certain amount of something to happen.

Our human bodies are collections of chemical and biological processes. If we strip away the soul and some other ethereal stuff, that’s all we’ve got—one giant set of processes. Each of those processes takes exactly what it takes to execute.

What if our biology dictates our processes that seems to be processes of something else? What if processes like breaking up with someone, longing for someone, changing careers, moving houses, and worrying about money are all just biological processes? What if our rush to push through sorrow, hardship, confusion, uncertainty, and everything else is completely futile? What if there is no amount of enlightenment, personal responsibility, or transformation that can make the process disappear?

As I ask these questions, I’m thinking, duh. Of course this is the case. All spiritual and transformational bodies of thought land us squarely in the midst of this very human condition. I’m also thinking that there are definitely ways that we can move through processes faster. The Landmark Forum, Access Consciousness, certain spiritual practices, and pranayama are just some examples of the bodies of work that shorten processes.

But maybe we don’t even shorten them. Maybe we just become magical beings who let go and honor the shit outta them. Maybe we become so clear and honoring that the process just becomes a process and all of our suffering around it disappears.

That seems totally obvious to me now too.

So here’s an idea. Just for this week, let’s let our processes be processes. Let’s see if we can just observe them and grant them being. Let’s let our feelings, emotions, thoughts, actions, inactions, and everything else just happen. No resistance. No resistance. No resistance.

Do this in just one area. Pick a processes and observe and honor it. Give it time and space to do its thang. Notice when you become impatient, and let that shit go. Let your process be.

Processes I’m Observing and Honoring This Week

My addiction to starchy, sugary foods. I’m on a cleanse and observing and honoring the process of my mind and body letting them go.

My attachment to clarity. I’m observing and honoring the processes of anxiety, confusion, and despair in my search for answers.

My judgmental mind. I’m observing and honoring the process of my mind going through it’s various, not-based-in-reality-at-all thoughts like “I’m not beautiful”, “I’m not safe”, etc.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

PART 1

Where in life am I resisting?

Where in life am I not honoring the process?

I tend to love beginnings and endings. I love the space of creation and the celebration of completion. I love the idea of things, and I love accomplishment. The in-between sometimes gets a little rough.

I’m challenged by the spaces where patience and endurance are key.

I counteract my tendency to bow out in the middle through structure. I take yoga classes so that I don’t quit the moment inspiration fails. I run to somewhere so that I can’t quit mid-lap or get off the treadmill. I clean temptation out of the house so that I can’t eat cookies mid-cleanse. I give my word and create accountability so that I’ll do what I want to do even when I don’t want to. Much of my life is a series of life-hacks designed to support me through the middle.

I also do things to avoid the middle. I make decisions. I search for answers. I eliminate gray areas. I asked for clarity. I require promises. These and other things give me the illusion of a clear outcome. They make me feel like I’m safe and in control.

I’m starting to notice the impact that not being in the middle has on my life. I’m sad. I’m anxious. I’m confused. I’m bored. I’m waiting for some other day. I forget to be present. I forget to be loving. I forget to honor the beautiful insights and experiences that belong distinctly to the in-between. I miss out on the textures and nuances of life.

This isn’t always the case, of course, but it’s happening right now in some important areas of my life. I’m trying to skip the middle and get to the end where I’m clear, certain, and accomplished.

I’d like to stop, breathe, and learn a little something about being in the middle. I’d like to live in the middle.

This week I’m practicing being in the middle and honoring the process. I’m exercising patience, curiosity, and endurance. I’m practicing being right here with exactly what’s so.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose