Liminal Space

Okay, the panic dreams have begun. Last night it was a panic dream about buying a car in Utah - the car was big, black, and expensive, and I didn't have enough money to buy it. While I'm sure a psychologist would love to do a dream analysis, I know where the panic is coming from. It is fuelled mostly by the upcoming changes (aka leaving Jakarta). But more specifically, the panic stems from all the UNKNOWNS which currently include the following:

1) No exit date yet.

2) No packing date yet.

3) No office/job assignment for Owen yet.

4) No flights yet.

5) No summer plans yet.

6) No temporary housing lined up yet.

7) No permanent housing lined up yet.

8) A house that needs to be sold this spring but still needs a kitchen remodel, yard work, and staging.

9) Kids are not registered for school yet.

10) No job lined up for me yet.

Is there anything we know for sure about this big change? Yes, we're moving. Period. That's just about the only thing I know.

The panic has also bled into my waking hours. On Wednesday, I had as close to a panic attack as I've ever had. The following is an exchange I had with Gina, my friend in the English dept, on Wednesday morning between classes:    

“I had a panic attack this morning,” I blurt out in the middle of the teacher’s lounge. Thankfully, only Gina hears me.

“Literal or figurative?” she asks.

“Literal," I say. "While I was running this morning, my heart started beating really hard and I couldn’t breath. I had been thinking about everything that’s going to happen in the next four months and just panicked. I stopped running and started to cry. I cut my run short and came home.”

Gina beckons me into her classroom where we’ll have a bit more privacy.

“Tell me more,” she says.

It feels so good to have someone listen to my inner chaos. So I let it pour out in one long rant: “I think it’s stress. I’m trying to be positive and I know there are tons of blessings, but we just don’t have anything concrete yet. No job assignment. No exit date. No plane tickets. No summer plans. No contract for a house when we return. We’re making progress but everything is taking longer than expected. Looks like we’re going to be living in temporary housing for six months. It will all be worth it, but I’m struggling.”

“Stress,” she nods knowingly. “I’m suffering too.” Now it’s her turn. She explains how she took on too much. Signed up for some extra work to make a little more money. And instead of just getting one thing, she got all three: two IB grading sessions and summer teaching at JIS Academy. Family visitors during inconvenient times. And an upcoming surgery for her daughter during spring break.

I realize I’m not alone.

She continues, “At least your breakdown happened in the cloak of early morning. I broke down this week in front of Mr. Clark (our principal) in his office.“

Yep. It could be worse.

I continue, “I just wish I could plan something. Control something. But everything is so undecided.”

“Liminal space,” Gina muses.

“Liminal? That’s a new word for me,” I confess. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a literary device to describe the blurry boundary period between two knowns. In latin it literally means threshold." (Yep, I get to hang with people who are smart like this!!) 

For the rest of the day I think about liminal spaces: In between. Unknonwns. Blurry. Undefined. Threshold. Holding-pattern (airplane jargon). Scary.

Somehow I find peace in the labels. And I find peace in the fact that I'm not alone - I have family and friends to help me through. 

Liminal space...I'm in the middle of it.