Learning to Live in the In-Between

I always knew the first few months after graduation wouldn’t be easy. People always warned you that this chapter would be awkward and disorienting. I believed them. But deep down, I wanted to believe a part of me would be more together than this.

I thought I’d feel more… grounded. Like I’d wake up with a clear sense of direction, ready to take on this next stage of life. But instead, I’ve found myself fighting this creeping fear: what if this is it? What if my life quietly slips into a routine where every day feels the same, where I never really stretch myself, or meet new people, or experience anything outside of what’s comfortable?

It’s strange because comfort is what I always thought I wanted, right? After years of schedules packed with classes, work, and plans, I figured I’d welcome a little peace. But when everything slows down, it feels unsettling. Like there’s a clock ticking somewhere in the background, reminding me I’m supposed to be building something… but I’m not sure what.

One small thing that’s helped me stay connected to myself, especially during these weird in-between phases, is a simple journal prompt I’ve used since high school everyday:

What is one moment from today I don’t want to forget?

I haven’t been perfect about it... not even close. There have been months where I didn’t write anything down. But I’ve always returned to it, and every time I do, it reminds me of something important: life is made up of small, ordinary moments. The five minutes I sat in the sun on my lunch break. Laughing with my friends over a dumb TikTok. A really good cup of coffee.

It’s easy to believe that growth only happens through big, dramatic change. New jobs, new cities, constant reinvention. But I’m starting to realize that’s not always true. Growth can happen right where you are. It can look like slowing down. Like learning to appreciate stability instead of fearing it.

When you grow up surrounded by unpredictability, your first instinct is often to run toward change, toward noise, toward anything that feels different. I’ve been that person for years. Always chasing the next big thing, convinced that slowing down would mean I was settling.

But lately, I’m learning something else: sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is stay. To stop running. To let yourself be still. To notice the quiet good things that happen when you’re not pushing so hard.

I don’t have a neat ending or a big revelation, but just a reminder I’m trying to give myself daily: you don’t need to chase after life to make it meaningful. Sometimes, showing up for the day you’re in is enough.