The Joys and Pains of Showing Up

  I am thinking lately about the concept of liminal space, and how it affects the way I think about social life.  "Liminal space" is often heard in holistic education circles, to refer to either a rite of passage which leads to maturity, or a kind of 'in between' space where there is not too much certainty in things. One of the most anxiety-provoking liminal spaces one can experience is that of transitioning to new social situations or new groups, or perhaps even re-entering a group for a second time. The anxiety of the liminal space is that of not being too sure whether one can really be accepted within the group or feel secure in it. It's also an anxiety which relates to identity: not quite knowing who one is or how a person functions in a community. I have sometimes heard of the term 'anomie' which is related to the sense of not knowing how to perform in a community where values have been subverted or turned into question. Like "liminal space", anomie can sometimes refer to a dreadful sense of despair, of not quite knowing what to do to achieve the things one truly needs to survive.
   Liminal space can perhaps best be described as the situation of "Just showing up": one commits one's presence to a situation without even knowing how one's body and habits 'fit' into the new environment or situation.  Even though the experience may seem harrowing and unfamiliar, my 'just showing up' to be fully present to that moment is all I really need to do. Once I can start to observe the situation and see what it's about, I can then do more than show up. For example, I can perhaps share a moment or a laugh with someone, or bond with people. But in the interregnum, there is this 'showing up', which can sometimes be accompanied with the anxiety of not having a script or way to meaningfully perform within that experience.
    I find it quite useful to approach these situations not from an 'all or nothing' perspective. If I am all-or-nothing, I either withdraw into a shell (determined not to emerge) or I desperately reach out my many tentacles in the hopes of grabbing something (anything). I am either a turtle (in the first case) or an octopus (in the second). These extremes are perhaps to be avoided as much as possible, because they mask the fact that social life is always a tension of opposites. I don't come into a social situation completely needy, and nor do I come into it completely self-sufficient. In fact, both extremes can become impediments, because they carry so many loaded assumptions about what is to be expected or demanded from the situation itself. If I am aware that social and community life are always going to be fraught with these kinds of irreconcilable tensions (social bonding vs self-sufficiency; identity vs. fusion etc.) then I can almost make a kind of game out of them. I can be curious: how much am I willing to stay with this experience, and what kinds of feelings emerge from it? What roles do I feel most comfortable playing, and what roles scare me? Where do I fit, and where do I not fit at all? Is it possible to experience this situation as an observer who is enjoying the unfolding play of experience?
    The tension of opposites is extremely interesting, and I think it's useful to go to unknown spaces an figure out what kinds of opposites emerge. This experience also teaches people that they are much more complex and layered than they often assume. And there is something both joyful and painful about that.