In Limbo

Photo by Joe Caione on Unsplash

My Dad’s car was loaded with my two full suitcases and random house things that I wanted them to keep or that they wanted to keep. I turned in my work laptop, phone, and badge the day before. I said goodbye to my identity as an adult. I looked at my apartment one last time, and we headed towards Jersey. I felt both exhausted and relieved.

I was done with moving around. So I thought.

Leaving Boston didn’t feel like the start of a new chapter. I have one more stop before landing in Taiwan. This period in limbo, instead, like many other big decisions that take time, includes a mix of small changes and various feelings.

I’m successfully doing nothing, or to be more politically correct, resting and recharging. While working, when busy, the days went by quickly without a second thought, and I felt exhausted. I dreaded letting time go by without notice. There was no room for essential sleep or creative pursuits. Now, I wake up, nap, and go to bed naturally without embarrassment or guilt. I let my body decide, not an alarm clock driven by a work schedule. This feels like a healthy and fabulous change.

I live with family instead of alone. The daily tempo is a concoction of everyone around. My parents' biggest headache is that Bobby, their dog, isn’t eating well. Part of my days include discussing how to trick him into eating. Instead of one-on-one career coaching or product planning meetings, I have intimate interruptions from people I love who come and go throughout the day. I’m reminded of the loss of my grandmother. No one will be on this earth forever. Spending more time together with loved ones is a priceless change.

Most of my time should be spent on being a writer, but I’m not there yet. My days feel more like a semi-vacation than a well-oiled writer’s routine. But I’m embracing the slow productivity and enjoying the “downest of downtime” this month — imagine with no work or vacation plan. I’m taking small steps, though. I started watching Jojo Moyes’s Maestro writing class and rereading my notes from last year's Harvard writing classes. I’m feeding my mind “creative food” among all the resting and eating and tricking and learning.

With my first novel, the first technical topic I’m tackling is pace. The same goes for life. I’m glad I can accept whatever comes based on my decision to move and let myself take the time to get to where I want to be while being directionally sound. Being in this limbo feels okay since it’s a good kind— I look forward to seeing my stepbrother tie the knot. I even wonder if this feeling of limbo-ness will continue and become my new normal in Taiwan.

My life feels freer, lighter, kinder, sometimes warmer, and more of Bobby.

The beauty of life is that there is not only one way through it. To begin again, it can be a straight line—or not. It could progress in first or fourth gear. It can feel delicate or drawn out and chaotic. Regardless of how I begin, the sun will rise every morning and I will be just fine.