Between the Doors: Where Nothing Happens but Everything Changes

A story about growth, gut feelings, and the imaginary sloth who really needs to get out of my way.

 

You know the saying, “When one door closes, another one opens”? No one ever talks about the long, dimly lit hallway between the doors.

A few years ago, I found myself standing in that exact hallway. And if I’m being honest? It was over-the-top uncomfortable.

Oh, and for the record? I didn’t just waltz into that hallway on my own. My two besties, Katie and Paula, opened the door and threw me in. Lovingly, of course.

Thing is, they’d both walked that hallway before me, so they knew the signs. When it was finally time to stop ghosting my soul, they gave me a full-on shove. I’m pretty sure I heard one of them yell “you’ll thank us later!” as the door slammed behind me.

And I did, because as uncomfortable as it was, it was exactly what needed to happen, and I’m forever grateful they loved me enough to give me that push.

Was I stubborn? Sure. But let’s not forget I was also right on time.

So why was it uncomfortable? Mostly because you’re no longer where you were, but you’re not where you want to be yet either.

After I retired from the concierge industry in 2021, with the help of my besties, I finally decided to do what my soul had been whispering for years. I leaned hard into my intuitive side, even though I had no idea where it would take me.

The move felt like stepping off a moving train, and my landing was not a graceful tuck-and-roll. I hit the ground face-first, got bruised and scraped up, and landed in a strange hallway. Plus, it didn’t help that I was dragging a heavy suitcase full of outdated crap I didn’t need, although I didn’t know that at the time.

As I stood there, the quiet was deafening. I looked around and silently wondered if I had just ruined my life.

And the next door? It didn’t exactly fling itself open for me.

Sadly, my “new chapter” didn’t come with a smooth transformation or a soothing aha moment. No radiant glow. No green smoothies on a yoga mat. No peaceful zen moments like the videos you see on TikTok. Just me pacing that infamous hallway, occasionally yelling, “Would someone please open a door?!”

Okay, since I’m originally from New York City, I might’ve used a few (let’s just say) colorful expletives at that point.

And that’s when the sloth showed up.

Not a real one, of course. Just the mental image I’ve assigned to this slow-motion season of my life.

He took up residence in the corner of my imagination, right in front of one of the doors, filing his nails, and occasionally smirking like he knew something I didn’t. Because if this hallway had a spirit animal, it would absolutely be a sloth.

With a clipboard in his hand and a strange sense of timing that made snails look efficient, he moved like molasses.

Meanwhile, I stood there arms folded tapping my foot, ready for a full-blown life makeover by 2 o’clock on Tuesday.

You see, once upon a time, I had a black suit, a full calendar, and a voice that carried across convention halls. But when I landed in that hallway? I was less keynote speaker and more coffee-fueled intuitive trying very hard not to strangle the imaginary sloth standing in front of the door marked “exit.”

And somewhere above all of this, there was a voice whispering to me to just “stay the course.”

To which I grumpily replied, “Could we please move ‘that course’ a little faster?”

I used to teach people how to stay calm under pressure. This was me doing exactly that, powered by muscle memory and one last shred of grace.

So what exactly is this hallway, you ask?

It’s where the old applause fades, but the new audience hasn’t arrived yet.

It’s the in-between. The awkward middle.

It’s that cosmic waiting room we all enter at some point in our life. That uncomfortable room with the bad playlist and no idea when your number will be called.

But here’s what no one tells you: the hallway is where you build the muscles you’ll need for the next room.

It’s where you clean out that suitcase of crap you’ve been carrying around.

It’s where you let go of that shiny resume (and the black suit, in my case) and finally start speaking from your soul.

It’s where you start to remember who you really are, and what your soul actually came here to do.

It’s not easy. No one has ever said that any of this is easy, certainly not me. For me personally, it completely took the wind out of my sails, and yes there may have been a dramatic sigh and a few blue words involved.

You scream, you cry, and you wonder if the Universe is ghosting you.

It’s not, actually. You’re just too tangled up in the pain to hear the answers waiting for you underneath it.

But somewhere in the quiet that follows, you realize something. You don’t need to have it all figured out before the door opens.

So you begin to gently lay down the mask of who you thought you had to be, and fire the inner overachiever who had a nasty habit of rewriting her resume instead of listening to her soul. Not that I’d know anything about that of course.

Which brings me back to the sloth. Because of course, none of this happened quickly. The sloth made sure of that. Sure, I considered bribing him with caffeine. But I didn’t. Eventually, I made it out the hallway and through the door without completely losing it.

And honestly? I deserve a sticker. Maybe cake. Definitely a nap.

And if you’re wondering… yes, I still have the black suit in the back of my closet.

Just in case.

Until next time!
Katharine