Embracing the Liminality of Life

Change is a continuous and natural process of death and renewal.

Mary Shelley once wrote, “Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine, or the clouds might lour: but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before.”

It speaks of Victor Frankenstein’s sudden shock when Elizabeth, his first love, dies on their wedding day, a victim of Victor’s creation going on a violent rampage. It sparks a series of events driven by guilt, rage and vengeance.

Shelley’s brilliant book, Frankenstein, which many call the first science-fiction novel, speaks to the very real coping we go through with major life changes. Reconciling how these terrible moments can even happen is no easy ask. The mere anticipation of them can induce anxiety and fear.

Yet you can benefit by thinking about these moments from a perspective that embraces the fluidity of change.

Psychologists have long referred to life’s continual change as liminality, the transition between two stages. It’s often induced by a major life event or rites of passage — and leads to a newfound identity. This transition can come with the passing of a loved one, moving into a new home, or even a new career. It can be deeply destabilizing, and the change can be felt long before it even happens, or years after.

As a simple example, I now identify as a writer. But it didn’t happen immediately. I dabbled in writing while I still worked in finance. And even after I quit to do it full-time, I still felt like a financier years after, thinking about everything from a money and cost-benefit perspective. I had to restrain myself from using corporate buzzwords like streamline and circleback. I once winced as I answered a question, saying, “That’s not really in my wheelhouse.” Identity is this weird, stubborn thing, that can change gradually, or all at once.

For hundreds of years, the smartest philosophers have debated this concept called the Ship of Theseus Paradox. Here’s how it works. Visualize a wooden ship in a shipyard, which is undergoing repairs. The ship is hundreds of years old, and has had many parts replaced over time.

The central question is, “At what stage in this repair process is the ship no longer the same ship? After one plank is replaced? After the entire starboard bow is replaced?”

Philosophers have twisted themselves in knots debating this point. One philosopher even posited, “Is it the same ship, if you take it apart entirely, and then reassemble all the parts again?” Heck, at the biological level, this already happens. The process is called apoptosis, or “Programmed Cell Death”.

It’s not uncommon for your body to replace an equivalent to its own mass each year — keyword “equivalent”, not identical.

The only thing philosophers can agree on, is that action is needed for this change to occur. The ship needs takes damage at sea or from wind. People need to do the actual repairs.

And perhaps the specifics of the answer to this paradox are less important than the thought exercise itself, and understanding that change is always happening, regardless of our desire for it.

For example, at age 41, I’m transitioning into young middle age, and will eventually level up into another age bracket (“level up” is my positive framing for aging). Prior to this, I naively thought age 40 was this doomed number. In reality, being 39 was little different than being 40. Yet change was always occuring up until this point.

Dealing with hugely formative setbacks

Per a study by economist Dr. Nathan Kettlewell, we experience a major life event every six years or sooner on average. Some of the most common consequential negative events are defined as death, illness of a loved one, being fired, divorced, or being widowed. The most common positive events are being married, having children, reconciling with an estranged loved one, and gaining money.

It’s also proven that the most difficult life experiences can often be sources of great meaning and growth. For example, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma when she was in her early 40's. She was given only a 50% chance of survival. It was a formative, difficult moment. She brought her two children out on the front porch alongside her husband, and explained to them the predicament she was in.

You would never wish a terrible illness upon anyone. But her recovery from cancer fundamentally changed her perspective on life and relationships. It led her to retire earlier than she thought. She began traveling more and spending time with family.

Author and former White House Chief of Staff, Hamilton Jordan, reflected on his cancer diagnosis, in his memoir, No Such Thing as a Bad Day. He said, “After my first cancer, even the smallest joys in life took on a special meaning — watching a beautiful sunset, a hug from my child, a laugh with Dorothy. That feeling has not diminished with time. After my s econd and third cancers, the simple joys of life were everywhere and boundless.”

Imagine living with this kind of appreciation for life — without having to contend with such mortal danger? Is it possible?

The science of optimizing change

Professor of psychology, Dr. Richard Glenn Tedeschi of UNC Charlotte, has studied the concept of post-traumatic growth extensively, finding that doorways to new creativity, experiences, happiness, and relationships can happen in the wake of a terrible event.

For example, divorce was one of my worst life experiences, carrying a huge emotional toll and a level of uncertainty I’d never expected. But the years following my divorce were among my best, a period of discovery and possibility, giving me the opportunity to reassess what I wanted in life. It gave me time to think over what had gone wrong in my marriage, and how I could grow and learn from those mistakes. It led me to take up writing, exercise more, and build a new path forward. But only because I was deliberate about making something good from it.

Formative moments carry a giant reset button that’s available to push. You know that life won’t be the same going forward without a loved one, with a new child, or with a new injury or illness. This change forces you to wipe the slate clean, because the old you just isn’t in the cards anymore.

Expect the change and embrace what comes after

I’d stress that major negative life event are nothing to anticipate with optimism, or to usher in sooner for your own personal growth. The stress is real and the pain can be crushing.

I know that with the death of a loved one, being laid off, and my separation, there was a feeling of the world closing in around me, and me wondering of how I would function in this new reality.

It can feel like crisis mode is activated in perpetuity these days. An outrageously contentious election is upon us. Wars and global instability abound. Anxiety is higher than ever.

Just remember that all of this is yet another flashpoint in the liminality of life, a fluidness that can be both chaotic and heartbreaking, and also beautiful and transformative— if we embrace it.

I know that just around the corner, either you, myself, or someone reading this will face a major setback in life, or a phone call they weren’t hoping to get.

But I harbor a stubborn optimism that the other side of that change will offer something beautiful and useful to your life, be it appreciation, anew love for what was lost, or the promise o f positive change.

Decades ago, geology professor Sally Walker survived a plane crash that killed 83 people. She said, “When I got home, the sky was brighter, I paid attention to the texture of sidewalks. It was like being in a movie…everything is a gift.”

And perhaps the other lesson is that we should see this present moment as that same gift, and aspire to appreciate it as if we’d survived a plane crash.

Remember that we are always approaching a milestone for better or worse, but these successes and setbacks aren’t the be all end all, or even as abrupt as they might have seemed in the moment.

Even the most terrible losses aren’t a complete loss, and a new change doesn’t mean your old life is completely dead. It’s as the ancient Persian poet, Rumi, wrote, “Do not grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”

Just as the writer and financier in me, and my love for passed loved ones will never die, neither will the things that matter in your life, no matter how distant they might feel. They are often change agents in disguise, leading you to something better.

Remember that we are all a Ship of Theseus in our own way. Let it be liberating. Let it be an opportunity to grow and leave behind what can no longer be.

It is as Heraclitus once wrote, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he is not the same man.”