I've been fooling myself with the notion that I am at an in-between stage in my life for years. I thought that middle school, high school, college were these glorified times of transitions that would later set the foundation to what I believed was the more stable and sedentary life. The grown-up life.
It dawned on me recently — actually, four days ago on my 23rd birthday — that life is just one really big inbetween. Everything leads to the next which leads to the next which leads to the next which will one day lead to an end.
And until we reach that end — that magnificent end that we run to, that end which makes all the insecurities of the in and out betweens make sense — the only thing else that matters besides what we run to is who we run with. Who are we with in these inbetweens?
In between silences, in between words. In between flights and text messages. In between those seconds that seem to last forever and days that fly faster than the wind. In between sad smiles of departure and the joyful hugs of return.
For so long, I was so set on racing alone to that beautiful end that my tunnel vision impaired me from reaching out to run with anyone else. I was caught so firmly between believing I could do everything on my own and assuming that no one would want to do anything with me anyways.
And with so much humility that tears are not enough, I am proven wrong. This past week in New York, in between cab rides and work hours, in between last-minute errands and birthday celebrations, I was proven so incredibly wrong and I am so glad for it.
To know that my inbetweens are shared with the inbetweens of the loveliness and grace of people I am unworthy to even share these times with, these people who tolerate my strangeness even when it doesn't make much sense to them, I know that it is this race we run that makes it all the more sweet. And I am grateful beyond measure that we are together in these inbetween times.
*dedicated to those I met with during my fall 2011 NY trip