the gap between where you are and where you want to be

Between who you are and who you want to be, there is a gap.

A horizon of becoming.

It can feel like chasing a moving target, like trying to reach the end of a rainbow.

I’m well acquainted with the gap—you could say I’ve taken up permanent residence there.

You probably know it too. There’s a version of you—maybe you call it your “higher self”—that you’re trying to alchemize and actualize. The north star that you’ve pointed your ship towards.

But when you try to hoist the sails and weigh anchor, you can’t put to sea. You don’t have the strength, the crew. You’re missing a part, a piece of technical knowledge.

So you stay docked. You read manuals, you order parts, you look for a crew. All the while, there you are—you never even attempt to leave the harbor. All of those things you thought you needed? A fabrication of avoidance (ok, I don’t know enough about ships or sailing to have made this analogy lol, but you get it). You often have far more information than you think you do—you’re just scared. When will you be prepared enough? What does being ready feel like?

I’ve been living there for the past 5 years, as I’ve treated my life like a never-ending self-improvement project, using self-help to avoid crossing the gap. Always getting ready to live, but never really living. It’s addictive. I know it’s an addiction because I keep doing it, knowingly, to my own demise.

We (I) have this notion that one day, everything will click into place and you’ll know when the time is right to cross the gap. But that’s not how the gap works.

You don’t have to see the full staircase to take the first step.

—Martin Luther King Jr.

↑ That’s how the gap works.

There are no paved paths. The path emerges, as if by magic, as you go. You cannot anticipate what it will look like, where it will lead, or what you’ll find along the way.

There are paved paths out there. Paths with shiny promises of certainty and ease. And every one of them is miserable. When you sacrifice the gap for certainty, you sacrifice magic. When you sacrifice the unknown for perceived safety, you sacrifice being surprised. You sacrifice discovering who you are—who you really are. I know this all sounds like empty platitudes, but this is dead serious. This is getting-to-your-deathbed-with-regrets serious.

I know because I was raised on the concrete path, encouraged to stay on it. Everyone around me was on it, and no one has yet to escape it. I don’t even know if I’ve done such a good job of escaping it myself. It’s alluring—no roots to trip over, no creatures stirring in the bushes, no jump-scares. When the gap gets scary, it’s hard not to want to step back onto the path, but I’ve come to associate the paved path with a dull, flat existence. Certainty is certain death for the soul.

via pinterest

Social media feeds the gap, making it seem impossible to traverse. It further increases the visibility of what we could be doing, making the gap between where we are and where we think we should be feel wider than ever.

There’s a concept in social psychology called “social rank theory” (well, well, well, look who found a use for their college degree after all—LOOK AT ME NOW), which suggests that humans, like other social animals, are motivated to establish and maintain social hierarchies. Comparing ourselves isn’t a character defect—it’s hard-wired. For our ancestors, low social rank meant limited access to resources, mating rights, and safety (ever seen Chimp Empire?).

And guess what? This still exists. Maybe it’s less overt, but it’s still alive and well.

When you see someone that you perceive to be "ahead" of you or "more successful" than you, your brain triggers a cascade of neurochemical responses: serotonin levels drop, creating feelings of inadequacy and depression. Cortisol rises, triggering stress and anxiety. Prefrontal cortex activity diminishes, reducing access to creativity and clear thinking, and we step back on the paved path. We wonder: what kind of path are they on that I can follow, step-by-step? And since the brain can’t distinguish between the highlight reel and the reality of it all, we perceive that everyone is doing better than us, they have what we want, their lives are easy and glamorous, and their path is the correct path.

But what we don’t see is that they got there because they crossed the gap (or got lucky, don’t forget that). They built the skills, made the connections, and crossed the dark, choppy waters to get to where they are. And guess what? I bet you they still feel like they’re in the gap; that they still feel like they’re not where they want to be. The people you look to are looking to someone else.

Here’s the thing:

I don’t know that you ever really get across the gap.

A consequence of growth is knowing that on the other side of the gap is another gap. And we’re all crossing multiple gaps at the same time—one gets crossed while we’ve simultaneously just stepped off the ledge of another. The feeling of resolve is fleeting, if it exists at all.

I’m never without an obscure skill I’m learning or a career I’m building. Some areas (usually all areas) of my life are always in a liminal space. Some I leave hanging, to return to later, while I give more attention to others.

The liminal space that I’m currently giving attention to is going from being tied to my routines to just allowing myself to exist. Going from the allure of the paved path, from wanting and coveting what others have and feeling like I’ll never get it, to being so engrossed in my own emergent path that I can’t be bothered to care.

Crossing the gap is scary. It’s a journey most people don’t ever venture to make.

Crossing the gap is not easy or convenient. It’ll make you want to tear your hair out. It will make you feel like a fool. At times, the gap feels so though it’s swallowing you whole.

But the only way to cross the gap is it see it as a place to have experiences and make mistakes. It’s the only thing that moves the needle forward. You cannot think your way across the gap—it can only be crossed with action.

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cover photo via pinterest