Embracing the In-Between

The problem with being both a creative and a doer is that the projects never seem to stop. It’s as though I’m caught in an endless loop of inspiration and action, where one task seamlessly flows into the next without any real pause for reflection. I recently completed the monumental task of writing my first book—a journey that consumed countless hours of thought, creativity, and determination. Yet, instead of allowing myself the luxury of a well-deserved break to savor this accomplishment, I immediately threw myself into another project.

This time, it was the transformation of not just one bathroom, but two. What started as a simple refresh quickly escalated into a full-blown renovation. I meticulously changed every detail, painting cabinets before swapping out their hardware, replacing door handles, installing new towel hooks, and deep-cleaning every inch until both spaces reflected my vision. And even after hours of painting, decorating, and scrubbing, I still wasn’t done—because here I am, writing these very words, unable to quiet the creative energy still buzzing inside me.

Physically, I’m exhausted. My body aches from the labor, reminding me that I should rest, that I need rest. But my mind? My creativity? They are still wide awake, already searching for the next thing to bring to life. It’s a balance I struggle with constantly—the delicate dance between doing and resting, between creating and simply being. More often than not, I don’t stop until I crash and burn, until my body forces me into stillness.

And maybe that’s why this time of year feels so restless. We are caught in the in-between season—the liminal space between winter and spring, between hibernation and awakening. Just days ago, a snowstorm swept through, blanketing everything in a frozen stillness, closing schools, and forcing us to retreat indoors. Yet, as if on a whim, winter loosened its grip, and now the sun beams brightly, melting away the remnants of ice, teasing us with the warmth of early spring. The air smells different—like possibility, like renewal. And it stirs something deep within me.

This is the homestretch—the last stretch of winter’s quiet before the full bloom of spring. It is the time when nature urges us to slow down, to rest a little longer, to savor the stillness before everything bursts back to life. And yet, this erratic, shifting weather makes it difficult to embrace the pause. The sunlight streaming through my windows whispers that it’s time to move, to create, to chase new ideas and breathe them into existence. And I feel it in my bones—the relentless pull, the unshakable drive to keep going.

But nature doesn’t rush its change. The trees don’t bloom overnight. The frozen ground doesn’t thaw in an instant. Transformation, real transformation, happens slowly—patiently—allowing time for the earth to warm, for roots to stretch and strengthen before reaching for the light. There is wisdom in waiting, in the in-between spaces of our lives. And maybe that is what I need to remember—not just in the changing seasons, but in the rhythm of my own creativity.

Rest isn’t an interruption to the process; it is part of the process. Just as winter is necessary for the renewal of spring, pause is necessary for creation. And maybe, just maybe, I can learn to embrace the in-between—not as a place of frustration, but as a moment of reflection, a space for renewal before the next season of creativity blooms into existence.