There’s comfort in the middle
I like to be in the middle of things. Like small town dance floors where life is on fire and tunes are catchy. Where lively conversation and playfulness draw me in. I also don’t like being left behind.
Whether on remote river trips or on a bison hunt. To my reptilian brain, being in the middle is survival. Like when we built an emergency fire for my near-hypothermic daughter. It was -36 Celsius and we had a long way to go after breaking camp. We worked fast to get a hot blaze going and surround her with warm bodies. Placing her in the middle of us, she was safe.
My love of ‘the middle’ is not just because of extroversion or survival. It’s a tender territory of belonging. It comes from a sinuous desire to be seen, known and loved. The other day I caught myself longing to be in the middle of things again. Jumping into a new vocation mid-career hasn’t been easy. There’s a lot of stumbling and alone time.
So the other day I felt frustrated with my solo paddle. I wanted to raft up alongside other wise humans, fall into the middle of their conversation and enjoy a lively exchange. A new magnetic middle where I belong in an emergent space of writing, coaching and podcasting.
Can we still belong when we’re at the edge?
But I realized that I was equating the experience of ‘being in the middle of things’ as the only way to belong. I forgot that I can belong in the edges.
We start this tender life with a wild constellation of family and then slowly break away- healthily defining ourselves as “them” and “not them”. We find new fires and people- new “middles” to expand our sense of self. With each expansion we challenge, form and consolidate beliefs. Over time each new middle, each job/group/organization/experience becomes too small for us. Eventually, we leave so we can breathe more easily and faithfully express who we’re becoming.
Edges are the experimental entry points to belonging to ourselves.
While talking with Bayo Akomolofe for my podcast, Tension of Emergence, we dove into the idea from The Wilds Beyond Our Fences, that in an “entangled world, separation is never totalizing. It is not something to solve”.
And that got me wondering if separation isn’t something to solve, maybe our belonging isn’t either?
I’m in the early days of thinking about this. But here’s what’s alive.
Leaving the safety and sanctity of a job, relationship, body of work or community puts us at the edge of the unknown. A place of initial darkness and disorientation. It takes grit, courage and resilience to step outside our comfort zone and leave. In new terrain, we’re invisible. Not yet in relationship with the new people and out of view from the old. We’ve got few instructions and no map. It’s lonely and we can feel like we don’t belong anywhere.
No wonder it’s so hard to forge new paths.
What if every experience is both a middle and an edge?
With all that angst about belonging, I went for a twilight ski.
As the light faded, I stopped to admire the frost on the willow. It was so thick the branches looked like suspended coral. As I got closer, I realized that the crystals created a kingdom of fractals. A cluster of micro-sculptures allowing something startling and wild. Something that stopped me mid-stride. Coral in the sky. Had I seen that before? A beautiful thing with no clear center.
I skied softer, slower after that.
I could sense my wish to be less alone as I create, write and coach. But in the territory of creating, there are no middles to get or return to. My choice to leave a successful career gifted me with the courage to offer my deepest expression. An opportunity to crystallize my gifts on the widow-sill of life. And all of a sudden I could see my work as one crystal, among many, all over the world. My place naturally belonging to a bigger sculpture at the edges.
You and I are fractals of emergence. We’re both giving to a world that desperately needs our gifts. We’re entangled already. This reflection (and maybe your comments below) evidence of our mutual belonging.
In closing, I do want to say that if you’re in the middle of something good and solid- enjoy it. We all love a good mosh pit don’t we? I’ll be there to lift you up. But if you’re at an edge and worry that you’ll be lonely, miss your old friends or wonder if you’ll ever belong again- remember we’re making those corals in the sky.
This is a short, wild life. Love those warm middles as you walk into the next beckoning edge.
