As graduation season approaches, I’ve been thinking about how often we cross thresholds without realizing it at the moment. We tend to mark the “firsts” in our lives with ceremony and attention, but the “lasts” often slip by quietly, though they may carry just as much meaning if not more. Recently, our dog passed away unexpectedly and since I was out of town, the last time I saw her was a few days before. I barely noticed my last goodbye to her.
A threshold doesn't require our recognition to hold power. Its sacredness is not diminished by our distraction. These moments, often subtle, almost ordinary, are portals between seasons of life. More than mere external change, they signal shifts within our inner landscape.
In the season of grief that followed our dog’s passing, I discovered waypoints in my inner landscape I didn’t know were there. This new season of absence has been illuminating. What truly transforms us is rarely just a change in circumstance. More often, it is the quiet, often unnoticed expansion of the heart and mind, the soul stretching itself to meet what comes next. Thresholds ask us to grow, to soften, to become. And in crossing them, we begin to live into the deeper questions of who we are becoming.
So I wonder: What “lasts” have you lived through, knowingly or not? What did they ask of you? And how might they be quietly preparing you, not just for what’s next, but for a fuller, deeper way of being in the world?
