Standing in the Doorway: A Liminal Feeling

Yesterday morning, in the wee hours, my neighbor Gloria died. In the late afternoon, J bought a beautiful arrangement of flowers, and we went next door to sit with the family, a Mexican custom. I left before the recitation of the rosary began. In keeping with Mexican tradition, firecrackers went off now and then to announce the death. For a moment, it felt like New Year’s Eve, that strange overlap when something ends and something else is just beginning.

One of Gloria’s grown children, my neighbor Victor, sat with a downcast expression. He’s a hard worker, providing for Gloria, his wife, and their three kids. On top of that, he’s building another floor onto the family house. In the midst of growing, building, and expanding, there was a death. Gloria had been ailing for some time and had been bedridden for a few months. I’m sure that, along with the sadness of losing her, there was some relief that she was no longer suffering or in pain. The growing family will put the additional space to good use.

For my part, I lived a full day. I learned. I rested and disconnected from podcast news without unplugging from the world. To fill the sonic void, I set up music through an Alexa app on a Kindle Fire my friend Holly had left me when she passed last year. I also studied languages with tools that didn’t exist when I was young. I explored the capabilities of a Notebook LLM and felt the rush of sitting behind a powerful engine, not yet sure how to drive it, but feeling it might have its usefulness in my life.

It feels as if the old order is quietly slipping away. Another older neighbor is gone. That generation is thinning, person by person. I know that someday my time will come, too. But for now, I am aligned with the new, with what is emerging.

Still, there are personal reckonings. J is aging quickly; sometimes I barely recognize him. In twenty-four days, he turns seventy, and his energetic presence in my life is much smaller than it has ever been, not because he’s withdrawn, but because he’s shrunk. To my surprise, it’s painful to see and feel this. 

By contrast, I feel I’m in my prime. I am still interested in and curious about life, including the technological revolution that we’re living through. 

I stand in the doorway between what has been and what is coming, listening to firecrackers, honoring the dead, learning new words, letting music fill the room, and choosing—deliberately—to remain awake to it all.

(Update: after trying the various features and functions of Notebook LLM, I decided that it wasn't a tool that was going to contribute meaningfully to my writing or my teaching, so I let go of it.)

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Questions for reflection:

Where in your life do you feel you are “standing in the doorway” right now—between what has been and what is coming? 
What helps you stay awake, curious, and present during times of transition?