Designing the In-Between:

The Art of Navigating Transitions

From transition to vision.

“Mind your transitions,” my yoga instructor often says. What a powerful reminder. Our gaze is so fixed on the outcome—what we want, where we’re going, and how we will get there. But in that forward focus, we can forget the sacred terrain of becoming. Between one pose and the next, between one life phase and another, there is the space of transition and transformation—and it’s rarely graceful. Whether it’s a career pivot, a renovation, a birth, or a death, we hold a vision of where we’re headed, yet often resist the discomfort required to get there. 

Transitions are the space between what was and what will be. They are neither here nor there—liminal, fluid, and most often, uncomfortable. We tend to rush through them, eager to arrive at the next thing: the new home, the finished renovation, the completed project, the next relationship. These moments of movement—buying, selling, moving, changing—are all active, all in flux. Transitions are the chaotic space in between “here” and “there”.

This year’s fall eclipses —a powerful pairing of lunar and solar events—brought this truth into sharp focus. Astrologers say these eclipses signify the closing out of one 20-year cycle, and the seeding of a new 20 year cycle. Stirring the collective and the personal with questions of identity, purpose, and direction. We are standing at a threshold, whether we asked for it or not. For many of us, the tectonic plates of our inner and outer worlds are shifting. What once felt stable is now dissolving, and what’s next is still shrouded in shadow. It’s no wonder we feel unsteady. Eclipses are nature’s way of accelerating transition. They reveal and they conceal, ending one story while quietly scripting the next.

The truth is: the in-between is rarely elegant. It’s messy, confusing, exhausting, chaotic and emotional. It stretches longer than we’d like, or speeds by before we can catch our breath. It is unfamiliar—demanding new decisions, new problem-solving, and a new pace. In this disorientation, we often procrastinate, overthink and try to escape. We want to skip ahead, past the struggle and be done. But transitions can’t be rushed. They take the time they take. And in those moments, I remind myself: Spirit’s timing is rarely aligned with our ego’s calendar.

The paradox is this: transition isn’t the exception—it’s the rule. We are almost always in a state of becoming. The moment we arrive, we begin again. Another vision appears. Another chapter beckons. We evolve by design, forever leaning forward toward what’s next.

So instead of resisting the transition, what if we embraced it as sacred space? A threshold. A fertile void. A design opportunity—not just in our homes, but in our hearts.

To “mind our transitions” is to honor the unseen architecture of change—the scaffolding that holds our growth. It is to allow discomfort, to soften into uncertainty, to be in motion and yet still trust that we are, indeed, arriving.

Holding space for beauty in the in-between,