I’m learning to let go. Suspended here, in this hot-air balloon, it’s not like I have much of a choice.
I’m hanging in perfect stillness, caught between the point where I took off and wherever I’ll eventually land. There’s no rushing ahead. I’m at the mercy of the wind, the warmth of the sun, and the coolness of the air, realizing—again—that I’m not in control. My only job is to respond. To be present. To let myself be carried.
I can’t steer this balloon, and honestly, it’s a lot like my life right now. I can’t always control where it’s taking me, especially at this point—midlife, menopause. Like the wind, there are invisible forces shaping this journey, and all I can do is trust that they know where I’m supposed to go, even if I don’t.
The silence up here is only broken by the flame firing behind me, but it’s my mind that keeps breaking through, wondering… Where are we going? When will we get there? Will we land safely? And then the bigger question, the one that’s been following me around: Who will I be when this is over?
That question—the one about who I’ll become—feels like the soundtrack to this season of my life.
I’m in yet another moment of change. The life I’ve built, one that’s been so full and beautiful, doesn’t quite fit anymore. It’s like I’ve outgrown it, but I can’t entirely explain why. Maybe it’s menopause. Maybe it’s seeing the world differently than I did before. Maybe it’s just what happens with age. Whatever it is, I know I’m being pulled toward something new. A new version of me. A new way of being in the world.
And that feels both freeing and terrifying. I miss the security of solid ground. But up here, in this space between what was and what’s next, I can see so much more.
From this height, the questions get bigger. What’s coming for me? What do I want this new chapter to look like? The woman I’ll become isn’t set in stone. She’ll emerge from the choices I make in this in-between time. I know that now. It’s in these moments of stillness—when everything feels suspended—that I get to decide how I’ll respond.
It’s tempting to reach back, to grab onto what feels familiar. But I hear people talk about “the new me” as if it’s a place I’ll eventually arrive at, a destination already mapped out. It doesn’t work like that. If I try to rush this process and skip the learning, I’ll just end up recreating the same life, the same version of myself—only in a different setting.
Truthfully, I don’t know exactly who I’ll be when I land. This experience is shifting everything—my perspective, my values, even what I want out of life. Because of that, I can’t predict what dreams will matter to me when my feet are back on the ground.
I’m okay with that. I’m getting more curious, finding myself wondering: Who do I dare to be now?
So, I’m giving myself permission to play in this space—between yesterday and tomorrow, between what I used to know and what I’ll create next. The more I lean into this wondering, the more I’ll be ready when the time comes to step into my next chapter.
For now, I’m floating. Just here. In the in-between.
