Betwixt and between

Do you ever feel caught between one thing and another, “betwixt and between”? Not quite here and not yet there? As “mid-lifers” (is that a word, maybe I’m making it up), we know the feeling of being in the middle.

When the saying “betwixt and between” came to mind, I had to pause to look it up. I learned that the two words mean essentially the same thing, though betwixt is rarely used in present-day language.

Grammarphobia references the Oxford English Dictionary definition of betwixt and between as meaning “in an intermediate or middling position; neither one thing nor the other.” We’re neither here nor there, but somewhere in the middle.

Almost certainly, if you’re in midlife and you’re reading this, you are navigating change in one aspect or another of your life. And often, it’s not simply that we’re becoming “empty-nesters,” taking on an increasing role helping our parents, or searching for new fulfillment. We, and our family members and friends, undergo other changes, some positive and some downright challenging.

Being between seasons can be unsettling. So, as I often do, I look to nature for parallels to life. I hope these meandering thoughts will help you in this messy middle.

Betwixt and between is a messy season

Here in Alaska, we’re definitely “betwixt and between” winter and spring. Alaskans call this in-between season break-up, a nod to the messy process of melting snow, uncovering the dirty roads and whatever else has accumulated over the long winter.

“Break-up” has been my least favorite season for the past 37 years of Alaskan life. Usually, winter puts up a good fight before loosening her grip. Snow covers the ground yet, but one minute it’s crunchy and firm under my feet, the next it’s slush-snow on top of ice, wet and sloppy.

Summer seems far away. And, the weather app I use gives up on specifics, predicting instead a “wintry mix” of precipitation (snow or rain, who knows which when you’re hovering around the margins of freezing).

Most mornings, we choose to to continue our walks. With spikes on our shoes and growing light, we meander more than usual, avoiding puddles and potholes.

It’s not an easy time to walk through, with hit-or-miss footing and unpredictable weather.

But growth happens under the surface

Just as “a watched pot never boils,” it’s difficult to observe melting snow or personal transformation during change. It’s difficult to see or feel changes in ourselves when we’re going through them.

But much like the trees “wake up” from their long winter rest, we subtly change. In northern climates like Anchorage, the snow melts and the ground thaws. Water and nutrients reach the roots and draw up into the tree, mingling with the starches and sugars waiting. Sap begins to flow, carrying nutrients out to support new growth.

We undergo growth behind the scenes as well. Remember Transitioning through change? So important are these words from William Bridges, they bear repeating:

“Transition is not just a nice way to say change. It is the inner process through which people come to terms with a change, as they let go of how things used to be and reorient themselves to the way that things are now.”

William Bridges, revised by Susan Bridges, Transition as the ‘Way through

Similar to nature’s changing seasons, we go through an inner transition process. A reorienting process.

Betwixt and between is a process

We’re in motion. We’re on our way from there to somewhere. Once we loosen our grip on the past, we make way for today — and the future.

This in-between season is growing on me, perhaps because I’m learning to let go of what has been or even what’s to come. This “reorienting to the way things are now” takes practice. And while I can’t say I love the messiness of break-up, I’m learning to appreciate the season, not just for what it’s bringing — but for what it is.

When my friends and I set out on a walk at 9:30 this morning, the sun poked over the mountains to the east and shone through the trees. Out on the inlet, big brown ice chunks contrasted with snow-covered Mt. Susitna in the distance. And small LBJs (little brown-jobs), skittered and tweeted amongst the trees.

We saw a moose through leafless trees, my friend commenting that we wouldn’t have seen it in the summer as it would have been hidden by leaves. We moved a little faster up the hill than usual, holding the dogs close and watching to be sure she didn’t feel threatened and follow us.

We’re here, now, today. We saw the sun come up over the mountains, watched a moose carefully and at a distance, and heard the birds. Each day is different, a “wintry mix” of ugly and beautiful, and everything in between.

Somewhere betwixt and between lies hope

The roads have been worse than usual this year, everyone griping about the potholes and glaciated ice. I felt the same until the other day. My sister-in-law said smiling, as we bounced along ice-pocked roads, “It gives me hope!”

And I had to laugh and agree, reluctantly at first but with growing conviction. As gardeners, we know that there is a purpose in every season.

And in the bigger picture, though I may not see it now, I believe in a higher purpose.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Romans 8:28

Some days I’m bouncy and jarred, and yet there’s hope.

May you find hope betwixt and between the “wintry mix” of life. May you be mindfully present to your here and now. And may you know the strength and conviction of God’s good purpose for you.