Here I am in a liminal space, possibly in between, yet again. The work that I did is done, and the most important thing to remember is what that work did to me and for me. I do believe my experience with the work brought me deeper into my own Trueness, and to this place where I now walk. I was good at what I did. What made me good? Short answer, diligence. And that diligence was critical in the forming of a methodology to which I gave my energy; a methodology built on the foundational commitment to the individual’s Trueness.

After finally completing the last essay entitled Seeker, I was feeling rather certain it would be the last of my writing. Even journaling seemed to wane, and when I did make entries they seemed to resemble Dear Diary scribblings. Anne Lamott’s writing made me hunger for regular writing again, as well as providing great comfort in my own humanity. It seems I need writing more than ever. There’s no doubt journaling over the years has been a release and a processor for my mind/heart and soul/spirit. The result has been an evolution in the work of a calling, the letting go of belief systems, practicing breathing prayer, and a more contemplative way of being. This essay has been hanging on to me. I’m truly in a space that feels the tension of being in between. But it’s probably more accurate to say—borrowing Connie Zweig’s term—I’m moving from role to soul.

A Literal Threshold
I’ve stood at a threshold or two in my life, some significant, some maybe not so significant. At the beginning of the second semester of the fifth grade, I was about to enter the fifth elementary school that I attended; Florida, then Mississippi, back to Florida, and back again to Mississippi. I’ve never forgotten standing at the literal threshold of that 5th Grade class.

My mother had taken me to the office for new student processing, and then a staff member walked me to a classroom. She left me standing there alone, the door at the rear, so that I was looking at the backs of all the students, until the teacher said, “Class, we have a new student.” At that point they all turned around and looked as I stood there in Sunday shirt and pants, wingtips, and trench coat. All simply stared, except one. He got up, walked back to where I was, took my coat, hung it up, and led me to the nearest open desk. Steve became one of the best friends in my entire life. He walked me across that literal threshold into an open space in the row and a wide open space in his young, pure heart.

Liminal Space
When I think back on my early writing, or when my desire to be a writer morphed into an actual commitment to write, I’m a bit amazed at the quantity of words placed on pages, not to mention those assembled into books. The biggest surprise in all this, and tremendous blessing, was the poetry that issued forth; rhythmic expression that I suppose was within all along.

In recalling all this I must honor the loving and supportive individuals as pen moved across page. There is Becky first and foremost—loving partner in life and all things. Fellow writer Mayra who reads and encourages in one swath of love. Dan—spiritual brother—who is the spark demanding more poetic flame. And of course, at the beginning of the commitment were Pam and Susan in our small and caring writing group.

When I first began writing with regularity, I admit I felt as if I were acting, playing a role as a writer—faking it a bit, or maybe a lot. When I dedicated the year 2009 to a daily process of creating my first book, it was in large part because of Gordon. Gordon is a minister with whom I was privileged to work when I coached a group of pastors in honoring their own Trueness in their respective calling. In 2008, Gordon challenged me to go off alone somewhere for a few days and find the topic calling at me, and consequent flow that would give me that first book. His graciousness did not end there. As I worked on the manuscript throughout that year, Gordon met with me, reading sections and encouraging my voice.

I vividly recall one of our meetings, where upon completing a reading, he handed it back and said, “I don’t hear your voice in this. Go and rewrite it.” I thought the first time someone (other than Becky) would do such would crush me, but I was thrilled. Love was tangibly exhibited in straightforward care. Clearly, I am my own harsh critic. But then I haven’t met true crushers as my books have been self-published.

So what does writing have to do with liminality, or liminal space? For me, a great deal. Whether it’s been through personal journaling, blogging, or writing in five volumes of what I called my Business Journal, the act of writing has assisted me in processing through many changes. The studies associated with the experiences about which I write have taken me deep into my own being. I have used what I learned to assist others through work I allowed to evolve. So, is now the opportunity to contemplate what is next? I’ve resisted answering this question because of any obsession with doing. But maybe it’s okay to hold for a bit what I now know about my own Trueness; holding these two commitments:

Peace and quiet in being (mind/heart & soul/spirit).
Care (Mother Earth—all creation & Love—anti-violence).

Study to Show …
When I was in the corporate setting, I studied to be prepared for what was to follow: training on something new; kicking off a project; process improvement; trying to become better as a leader. But now? I suppose my study is about being more present to what is … reality. In corporate life, there’s this thing known as due diligence. In my experience it was used mostly around migrations, consolidations, and mergers. After all these years I believe it basically meant get your act together before you do anything really stupid. 

In writing, I suppose the lack of due diligence would be not honoring the writing process. That is how I began. I thought someone who launched out to do what I did was supposed to write a book. Anne Lamont teaches about shitty first drafts. My first attempt didn’t even qualify for that label. So I quit, for a while. Thankfully I discovered Write by Karen Peterson. In her instructive book I learned the importance of the writing process—having little to do with producing a manuscript. So I focused with what was more natural for me, study. Study and practice.

As Anne Lamont says, good writers are also good readers. This is where diligence comes in for me. As Becky once answered, when someone asked if Jeff reads a lot, “No, Jeff Studies.” To me, diligence and study are one and same. And clearly in my experience, it has been study that has given me the strength to move words from the journey onto the page. This act may never mean anything to anyone else, but has been life sustaining for me. However, in reading Cole Arthur Riley’s book, This Here Flesh, I’ve been brought to the realization that my study/diligence has become an act of savoring; tasting the flavor and spice in a writer’s ability with word and page.

Up to this point, I believed my study was, at least in part, about discovering what is still left for me to do. I remember telling my dear friend Dan that what may be left to do will have to come to me. I will not journal—or study—my way to it. And then it occurred to me that I’ve given quite enough. If I never do anything else, I did good work. I gave up security to a calling, narrowed my focus, and loved individuals. So, if nothing comes to me, fine. But if it does, that’s fine as well.

I have been reminded that my own center is timeless, and of the work I’ve done (study & practice) that led me to a more vivid consciousness of this timelessness. I know I am ready to get back to writing, for it is important to my journey. And somewhere, someday, it will be important to someone; I hope.

I’m not sure there’s a Steve to lead me to where I need to be. Maybe standing in this liminal doorway is where I need to be.

Trust the Mystery

The mystery of impact,
a paradox hard to hold,
being who I am
doing what I do,
to what end?

The answer held truly
by the one, herself
by the one, himself
read aloud in their own lives.

In the theater of my life,
I stand somewhere between
the second and final acts,
scenes replaying and lovingly teaching.

Youth now walks behind me,
but deserted me it has not.
Its diligence dutiful and due,
its design served adequately.

From the words of life & living,
a manuscript evolving,
my impact unfolding in the chapters,
written by others
finally by me being read.

And read I do
often and openly.
no longer hiding,
impact embracing,
the mystery holding,
the mystery holding me.

Notes & Influences:

Lamott, Anne. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. New York: Anchor Books, 1994.

Peterson, Karen E. Write: 10 Days to Overcome Writer’s Block. Period. Avon, Massachusetts: Adams Media, 2006.

Lamott, Anne. Dusk, Night, Dawn: On Revival and Courage. New York, New York: Riverhead Books, 2021.

Zweig, Connie. The Inner Work of Age: Shifting from Role to Soul. Rochester, Vermont: Park Street Press, 2021.

Riley, Cole Arther. This Here Flesh: Spirituality, Liberation, and the Stories That Make Us. London: Holder & Stoughton, 2022.