The power of a slow transition

Committing to a plan often feels more comfortable than sitting in uncertainty. But when we’re not sure where we’re headed, a slow transition gives us the space to find out.

Some woods I walked through in Sunday River, Maine, in the middle of their own slow transition.

I met a friend the other day for a walk in the woods. About a mile in, the conversation turned to a theme I love: navigating transitions. See, my friend had recently left a senior-level job in tech with a plan to head back to school in a totally different field. They were ecstatic.

Until classes started.

Two sessions in, they realized they’d made a huge mistake. The program was not what they expected or wanted. In the past, they told me, they would have just gritted their teeth and kept going. But as they’ve gotten more comfortable listening to their gut, they’ve realized that “powering through” isn’t always the right move.

So they quit the program, and immediately felt a huge sense of relief. But they also felt deeply uncomfortable — because suddenly, they weren’t moving through this transitional moment. They were just sitting in it.

In architecture, liminal space refers to a threshold — the area separating two places. Hallways between rooms. Foyers that connect outside to inside. Lobbies. Airports. Waiting rooms.

We don’t tend to hang out in liminal spaces on purpose. They’re meant to be transitional, temporary — places we occupy only long enough to remove our coats or wait for a plane. But in life, we’re often faced with not just liminal moments, but liminal phases: times where we know we’re ready to close the door on one thing, but we’re not sure which one to open next.

Those phases aren’t comfortable — no one wants to hang out in a waiting room longer than they have to. They’re full of unknowns: What’s next? When will it happen? How will I know it’s the right thing?

And, of course, unknowns trigger fear.

When we’re scared, we tend to revert to knee-jerk reactions: we return to the place we just left (even if we hated it), or we rush ahead and commit to something new — a career pivot, a degree program, a rebound relationship — whether or not it’s what we actually want. Because having a plan often feels more comfortable than sitting in uncertainty.

Even if that plan is making us miserable.

I’ve certainly done it. I’ve committed to projects that made me feel wanted, even though they didn’t align with my goals. Jumped into work partnerships because they felt less scary than figuring things out on my own. Applied for jobs with only the goal of “get the hell out of here” in mind.

And guess what? None of those paths worked out. Because I only knew what I wanted to get away from. I didn’t allow myself the time to figure out what I was moving toward.

We’ve all seen the stats by now: People have been quitting at abnormally high rates since April. More than 2 in 5 Americans say they want to leave their job within the next year. Burnout is up, employee happiness is down, and we’re all just fried. It’s no surprise so many people are making some kind of work transition right now.

And if the anecdotes I hear are any indication, many of them are a lot like my friend: ready to leave one thing, but not sure what’s next. If that’s you, I want you to know: it takes courage to live in a liminal space — to slow that knee-jerk reaction, and plop yourself down for a few while you figure things out. But it’s so, so worth it.

Here are a few techniques to help you do that.

Call it an experiment

What if you’re not indecisive or aimless, but just…gathering some data? By thinking of this transitional moment as a series of experiments, you can lower the stakes and allow yourself to try things out. As you go, ask yourself:

• What questions do you hope these experiments can help you answer?
• What feels right about each thing you try? What feels wrong?
• What patterns do you see over time?

Look for a recovery job

Sometimes things are so bad, you just need to leave. But a lot of us have learned that every new job has to be a “step up” in some way: more status, bigger title, higher salary. And while humans do tend to want opportunities for growth, when you’re truly burnt out (and if you can’t afford to take time off), it’s often more important to optimize for rest and recovery than progress and challenges. Ask yourself:

• What would be different in my job search if I optimized for rest and recovery right now?
• If my work were less challenging for a while, where else might I look for ways to grow or learn?
• What beliefs do I need to let go of to allow myself time to recover?

Write down your why

I’ve found that many people worry most about others’ perceptions of them — that people will think they’re unmotivated or irrelevant if they don’t have a grand plan. The truth is, most people are too busy juggling their own lives to invest that much time in judging your professional status. But this fear often isn’t really about others — it’s actually our inner critic that’s saying those things. One way to counterbalance that voice is to get really clear on why you’re pausing:

• Write down all the reasons you’re giving yourself space to pause right now. Read it back to yourself when the fear starts to kick in.
• Remind yourself that you’re making a choice. Feeling powerless or stuck tends to throw us back into knee-jerk reactions. By reminding yourself that you’re sitting in transition intentionally, you’ll feel more in control — and less likely to rush.

I texted my friend about including their anecdote in this newsletter. “Omg I just want it to be over,” they told me. “And I know this is The Lesson,” they added. It’s true! But it doesn’t make it an easy lesson. So be kind to yourself when you get antsy and start wondering why you don’t have The Plan figured out already. The liminal space isn’t forever. But it exists for a reason.

This post originally appeared in the October 7, 2021, edition of our newsletter, Nice Work. Subscribe here.