ON THRESHOLDS

The Quiet Courage of Crossing from One Life to the Next

Most, but not all, of the important shifts in my life haven’t come with fireworks. They arrived quietly, like a door closing behind me or a silence I could no longer ignore.

We call them thresholds—the spaces between what was and what will be.

Sobriety was one. Not a dramatic collapse, but a slow recognition that the way I was living wasn’t sustainable. Grief was another. When my father died, I found myself standing at a doorway I didn’t choose, facing a life I didn’t know how to live. More recently, stepping away from the business I built to ask: What is it all really for? Or the realisation, at forty-three, that I am neurodivergent—that the traits I had spent decades masking were not flaws, but clues.

Thresholds are rarely comfortable. They demand that we let go before we know what’s next. They strip us of certainty and force us to live, for a time, in suspension. That in-between is not easy. It’s the place where identity feels fragile, where the old map no longer works but the new one hasn’t appeared yet.

In coaching, I see the same pattern in others. A client sitting across from me, successful on paper but restless inside. Another in transition—leaving a career, ending a relationship, facing illness. Each one standing on a threshold. Each one learning that courage isn’t about rushing forward, but about staying present long enough for the next life to reveal itself.

Because the real gift of thresholds is not in speed but in depth. They invite us to pause, to ask what truly matters, to carry forward only what belongs.

Our culture doesn’t make this easy. It rewards quick pivots, polished narratives, seamless transitions. But life doesn’t unfold like a LinkedIn post. It stumbles, pauses, doubles back. It asks us to sit in uncertainty longer than we’d like.

And yet, it’s in those pauses that meaning grows. Sobriety gave me clarity. Grief gave me compassion. Stepping away from business gave me freedom. Embracing neurodivergence gave me belonging.

Thresholds are where we are remade.

If you find yourself at one now—unsure of what’s next, unsteady between chapters—know that it’s not weakness. It’s the human condition. And sometimes, it’s the doorway to the life you’ve been waiting for.

This is what I explore every day with my clients: the courage to pause, the clarity to see, and the freedom to step across with intention.