Interstitial

Pssst...quickie reminder: early-bird pricing for the May 22 Say The Word retreat ends Friday! Get more info/ register HERE.

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​When I was in 10th grade, I got an essay back from Mrs. Johnston, my English teacher, and it was covered in the usual red pen.

She hated my sentence structure (I have a problematic tendency toward run-ons) and I hated her repetitive thesis statement requirement (geez, we got it the first three times I wrote it!).

We were not an ideal fit, even for a subject I generally loved.
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But this particular essay stands out for a reason. 

She’d circled where I’d written the word “interstitial” and in the margins she wrote, “You mean ‘interspatial.’”

Ummm…no, I didn’t. 

I wrote “interstitial” because I meant “interstitial.” 
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Okay, so why would I remember this more than *cough* twenty years later?

Because I loooooved the word “interstitial.” 

It had recently come to my attention as a word (thanks, Coach Clark! You DID teach us something in health class!) and when I realized it didn’t only apply to our ribcages, I got a little obsessed.

(I’ll give you 3 guesses about whether I was part of the ‘cool’ crowd in high school…).
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Interstitial: pertaining to being between things, especially between things that are normally closely spaced.​
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Isn’t that fantastic? 

I still love it. 

Also, I suddenly feel nostalgic for the overwhelming scent of Drakkar Noir (is that still a thing with teenage boys? Or has someone told them to cool it. Do they even still sell that stuff? #ifyouknowyouknow).
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Anywhoo.
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Interstitial.​
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Between things. Things normally closely spaced. 
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It keeps popping into my head lately. 

I go for my second vaccine shot next Saturday and this limbo between beginning the process and being fully vaccinated feels interstitial. 

Really, this entire space between 2020 pandemic feelings and 2021 we-can-see-the-light-but-it-seems-really-far-away pandemic feelings feels interstitial. 

It’s spring, which, in most places I’ve ever lived, feels more like a tug-of-war between winter and summer where I’m almost always dressed wrong for whatever the weather is. Interstitial.

Socially and culturally, I see shifts and transitions and change everywhere (so much of it long overdue). I look back at one set of norms and forward towards another, and here we are…in the interstitial space.
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​And that’s what I keep noticing: how hard it is to use the word “interstitial” without the word “space” showing up somewhere nearby.

But unlike interspatial— which has to do with interspace, which is all the space between two things, regardless of how close or far— interstitial implies closeness as well.

That closeness means that there’s often a relationship, a connection, sometimes even a rubbing of edges.
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In biology, often that interstitial space is filled with interstitial fluid.

It serves as cushion and lubricant.

Problems arise if that interstitial fluid isn’t there. 

That space shouldn’t be empty.
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The space that makes up our transitions, our moving from one part of our lives to the next, shouldn’t be empty, either.

It’s rarely a smooth jump over sweet-smelling air.

It’s more often a messy slog through a muddy, viscous river. 

And that’s okay.

It’s just interstitial fluid.

It’s the connection point between these two closely spaced selves.
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Okay, I’ve made a bit of a mess out of my metaphors here.

But if you are feeling a little bit “neither here nor there” right now, consider that perhaps you’re simply interstitial.

There’s space here.

There’s also connection.

There’s fluidity.
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​Draw on your curiosity. Ask yourself...

What does it feel like you’re leaving behind?

Where does it feel like you are right now?

Where in your body do you feel your emotions when you consider these questions?

Can you identify the emotions that come up? 

What are some adjacent emotions? (example: contentment is an emotion that is adjacent to happiness)
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Keep going. What other questions can you come up with?
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The in-betweens aren’t often our most comfortable places, but they are constants in our lives.

Transitions are everywhere. Some are big and gnarly and scare the shit out of us. Some are so small as to be hardly noticeable.

We tend to rush through them, to fix our eyes on their ends and grit our teeth in the meantime.

Learning to not only bear these interstitial spaces, but even relish them, means that we are gifted with whole chunks of our lives that we get to actually be present for instead of rushing past.​
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Leave a comment and tell me— what feels interstitial to you right now?

I promise not to circle it with red pen and assume you meant something else entirely.
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​Before I go:​
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Friday is the last day for early-bird pricing for the May 22 Say The Word retreat, so don’t wait to register!
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In Embracing The Second Half  we'll look at what’s worked and what hasn’t from the first half of this year and dig into how we’d like to move forward into the second half!

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​May 22, 2021

12-4pm EST 

$79 early-bird pricing until 5.1.21

Seats are limited
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Seriously— don’t skip this one. 

Take advantage of this opportunity to check in with your year— what’s going right, what’s not, and how do you want to move forward into the second half of it. 

There’s real magic in doing this work with a small, intimate group.

I hope you’ll join us.

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Have a great week and don’t forget to...

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​Stay curious out there, my friend.