Hanging in the Hammock Between "Over" & "Next"
A theme that seems to really be "up" for a lot of my coaching clients right now is how to hang in "the in-between" of things.
And this theme of how we respond within the spaces where it feels like nothing's happening or we don't know what's next is most definitely a juicy one.
I recently listened to an Oprah SuperSoul podcast episode with Norman Lear, the producer of iconic and, at the time, groundbreaking American TV shows like All in the Family, Good Times and The Jeffersons.
Oprah asks him, now at 95-years-old and after his vast life and influential career:
"Is there a unifying thread that connects all those parts of your life?"
He responds:
"There are two little words in the English language that we don't recognize as being as important as they are:
And they are 'Over' and 'Next.' And if there was a hammock in the middle of those two words, that would be I think what the philosophers tell us is living in the moment."
So the question is, how do we habitually respond when we're suspended in mid-air between "over" and "next"?
When one chapter has closed, but you're not yet clear on what the next chapter will hold for you, what does your default response generally look like?
Do you settle in and relax, enjoying swinging freely through that space between expectations and doings and results and plans?
Or do you tense up and recoil, resist and flail around grasping at the next thing to hold onto to give some sense (ahem, illusion) of permanence?
With the way we humans are wired, it feels counterintuitive to just hang in what can feel like no-man's-land between the last thing and the next thing.
It takes a lot of trust to relax into that limbo phase.
To have faith that something next always comes...just like what came before invariably ends.
In meditation, one practice often offered to help expand our comfort with hanging with the discomfort of the in-between phase is to notice the moment of pause/space after the exhale has finished but before the next inhale has begun.
Pema Chödrön puts it this way in When Things Fall Apart:
"It's a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately fill up the space. By waiting, we begin to connect with fundamental restlessness as well as fundamental spaciousness."
Most of us have gotten so well-practiced in filling up every empty space that empty space feels terrifying when we're faced with it.
So when big transitions come upon us, our conditioned mind tends to freak out and run clamoring toward the next thing to do to give our minds a sense of control.
And if the transition comes in the form of an unexpected loss — the loss of a job, a family member, a marriage ending, our bodies not functioning in the same way they used to, something not going as we hoped it would and our mind interpreting that as failure — the existential freak-out is (understandably) all the more amplified.
But what if there's sweetness to be soaked up hanging in that hammock between "over" and "next"?
What if there's wisdom to be gleaned within the pause between the last thing and the next thing?
What if that "hammock time" is for us to rest and integrate the soul-level lessons and make space for whatever next chapter wants to open to us?
And what if the more you practice hanging with the discomfort of the I-don't-know-ness rather than trying to distract yourself from it or solve your way out of it, the more strength and trust that you can handle whatever life throws at you you'll start to own within yourself?
So, what beliefs of yours might need to be upgraded to allow a little more ease, a little less struggle in the in-between phases of your life?
What might you want to loosen your grip around in order to let yourself settle a little more fully into the trust of the pause?
What do you imagine could open up to you in this life if you were more able to relax into the space between, trusting that whatever's next meant to emerge will emerge in the perfect way and at the perfect time...all happening for you rather than to you?
Happy investigating :)
Lots of Love,