The stillness in the middle of motion.
There are moments when you find yourself suspended between forces.
Not anchored, but not drifting aimlessly either—just held in a space that isn’t demanding a decision. A moment when movement slows enough for you to see the contours of what’s around you.
In-between spaces can be unexpectedly clear.
When you’re not pressing forward or pulling back, the noise drops out. You can notice the small calibrations happening beneath the surface—the way your attention reorients itself, the subtle shift in what feels important.
Transitions often feel more peaceful than arrivals.
They don’t require you to declare anything finished or perfected. You don’t have to account for every detail or prove why you’re there. A transition is honest about its temporary nature, and there’s a relief in that.
There’s potential in the pause.
A chance to reconsider what you want to carry forward and what you’d rather leave behind. A moment to adjust your bearings without the pressure of immediate action.
Movement isn’t always the opposite of stillness.
Sometimes they share the same space—one current balancing another, holding you in a quiet equilibrium you didn’t know you needed.
Longitudes Unclaimed 