Every ending asks for courage; every beginning asks for patience.

Introduction
According to Hindu tradition, life unfolds in three great phases.
First comes the apprentice, from adolescence to your mid-twenties — a season of learning, exploration, and first attempts.
Then the householder, through your thirties and forties — the time of responsibility, work, family, and building.
Finally, the forest dweller, from the mid-fifties onward — when the world grows quieter, reflection deepens, and meaning becomes the measure of success.

Between each of these phases lies a threshold — a transition — and crossing it is never simple. Transitions are disorienting because they demand we shed an identity before the next one has fully formed.

The Anatomy of Transition
William Bridges, in his timeless book Transitions, reminds us that change always begins with an ending. He describes three stages:

1. Ending – when something once central to life falls away. We feel disengaged, uncertain, unanchored.
2. The Neutral Zone – that uncomfortable in-between where old structures dissolve and new ones haven’t yet emerged. It is tempting to rush through, but this is where integration happens.
3. New Beginning – the point where renewal finally takes root, born from the emptiness we’ve endured.

In much of Western culture, we skip the second stage. We rush from ending to beginning, desperate to fill the gap. Yet other traditions honour it. In parts of Africa, rites of passage acknowledge each shift, helping both the individual and the community adapt. They pause. They allow the soul to catch up.

My Own Threshold
Not long ago, I found myself in my own neutral zone.

After thirty-five years in my Greenside home, I handed the keys to my daughter and moved into a small flat in Riviera. It was a conscious choice — but still, a wrench. Homes hold history, and history resists being packed into boxes.

Almost simultaneously, the bank that had supported my writing for over two decades ended its sponsorship. Two endings. Two identities slipping away.

For a while, I lived in the quiet tension between what was and what might be. But in that emptiness, something subtle began to grow — a sense of space, of readiness, of renewal taking shape.

Why It Matters
We all face transitions — leaving school, changing careers, losing loved ones, growing older. The temptation is always to rush through, to label the pause as wasted time. But the middle is sacred ground. It is where transformation matures unseen.

“Don’t skip the middle. It is the soil from which new beginnings grow.”

As I step more fully into this next phase — forest dweller, writer, grandfather, seeker — I carry one quiet conviction:

When endings are honoured, they become doorways.
And walking through them with awareness is how we begin again.

Where are you standing right now — at an ending, in the neutral zone, or at a new beginning? What might happen if you paused long enough to honour the space between?