Limbo.
lim·bo
/ˈlimbō/: an uncertain period of awaiting a decision or resolution; an intermediate state or condition.
A composer I admire recently reached out to me. After I’d internally ceased wildly fangirling we had an intense conversation about how 2020 has affected each of our lives.
We had both been about to undertake a massive life change; we both possessed the conviction and ease of mind in the decision. We’d thought it through, a thousand times.
2020 found its way to peel apart the plans. Neither of us could make the move we were planning.
Yet.
We found ourselves waiting. Walking around that momentary space between worlds. Between expectation and contentment.
In our own private limbo.
I am a patient person. All good things are worth waiting for in my eyes.
But… I found myself beginning to question.
There has been no more overwhelming time to be asked a question than now.
Limbo has a curious way of bringing to the surface what we ought to question - and haven’t.
It’s a place where the ardour of conviction wears thin. It’s a place where we are curiously open to others. Where we recognize emotions with greater opacity; particularly those we struggle to handle.
While limbo does not entirely exist in the past - its people and places occupy it.
While it is not a realization of the future - its dreams and hopes dominate it.
A catalyst in the conjunction of two opposed universes.
We begin again to see the beauty in familiar faces and old places.
A consciousness is brought onto mundane activity.
It’s a recipe for nostalgia; before we’d ever even left.
A nostalgia for present things.
While we are both trapped here in limbo, albeit on opposite sides of the world. We’ve each begun to see a texture of added beauty and slow winding sombreness.
This, neither of us believes, we shall ever be able to forget.
While this recount includes none of the attempts at witty cynicism I generally allow to bog down any communicative discourse. I don’t believe it would benefit from them.
We’re a little older, a little wiser.
L.
