Journal - The Space Between

I thought I knew the path.

When I stepped away from my old role, I carried my niche with me like a well-worn satchel — the one I’d been filling for years with skills, contacts, and tidy deliverables. Consulting seemed like the obvious next chapter. Safe. Predictable. A bridge I could cross without looking down.

But somewhere between the contracts and the client calls, I began to feel the seams fray. The work was fine — competent, even admired — but it didn’t hum in my chest. It was like wearing a coat sewn from someone else’s memories: serviceable, but without my scent, my stitching, my story.

Lately, I’ve been leaning toward a different horizon.

It’s not a map yet — more like a flicker of candlelight in a room I haven’t entered. This world I am in just doesn’t fit right. I can’t imagine doing what I am doing for years to come. But I can’t seem to find my way. I feel like I am closing my own door. I haven’t stepped through the doorway. Not yet. But is this door closing behind me or will it lock me in?

There’s a peculiar magic in this in-between — the moment after the match is struck but before the flame catches. I feel it in my body the way you feel a storm before it breaks: the air thickening, the light shifting, the quiet holding its breath.

Maybe this is the work right now — to linger here, to listen. To let the old coat slip from my shoulders and fold it away with gratitude. To stand barefoot on the threshold, feeling the grain of the wood beneath my feet, and wait for the moment when my hands know exactly what to reach for.