(A Letter) To Those in the Middle

A few weeks ago, I declined an invitation from a friend to go backcountry skiing.

Though I was bummed to turn down the invitation, I knew it was the right, wise decision—for everyone involved.

I haven’t taken any avalanche safety and rescue courses, though I want to, nor do I have all of the gear needed to venture into a zone with avalanche risk, even though my friend assured me the avalanche risk was low at that moment.

Thanks to the support of a friend in a region with little to no avalanche risk, I’ve learned the basics of backcountry skiing. As a next step, I need to take and complete avalanche safety and rescue courses to ensure I’m giving myself and those with me every shot at success—in the event that something were to go wrong.

So rather than go backcountry skiing on this particular day, I chose to ski within bounds at the local ski mountain.

Sometime that morning—as I waited 30 minutes for the chairlift, rode it up the mountain, and watched several small groups of backcountry skiers make their way from the top of the lift further up and across the mountain—I couldn’t help but feel caught in the middle. Caught in the middle of this sport. With a desire to learn more and adventure beyond the crowds, but “stuck” where I am.

And as I ruminated on this—chairlift rides are good for letting your mind wander as well as for conversations with friends and strangers—I realized that, for me, this “in the middle” feeling goes beyond skiing. It transcends most parts of life

I feel “in the middle” with regard to so many things: skiing, rock climbing, surfing; my career and creative pursuits; with the places I call home, with relationships, with the Spanish language; the list goes on and on and on.

Have you ever felt like you’re in the middle of something? Not quite a beginner but also not an expert—or even proficient?

The thing is, I think we’re all in the middle somewhere. And in reality, we’re likely all in the middle in a lot of wheres.

Merriam-Webster defines “in the middle” as “in a difficult or unpleasant position.” The Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of “in the middle” is “in a difficult, dangerous, or untenable position; in trouble.” And when asked, “What’s the definition of ‘in the middle’?”, ChatGPT says, “‘In the middle’ typically refers to a position or state that is equidistant from two ends or extremes. It can describe physical locations, like being centrally located between two points, or more abstract concepts, like being neutral in a debate or situation. Essentially, it signifies being at an intermediate point or state.”

To me, “in the middle” represents an altogether literal and more figurative or nuanced state, a space where, sure, you’re in between two points—or many points—and also, a space where growth and exploration occur.

So if being in the middle is arguably a space for curiosity and expansion, why do we feel “stuck” in the middle? Perhaps it’s cultural or societal norms that’ve been learned or passed down to us. Perhaps it’s a result of social media and our hyperconnected world. At the hands of social media, I think it can seem like everyone is an expert at just about everything they do—and post about.

Perhaps, simply put, being “in the middle” is a relative concept, unique to each of us.

That day, between ski laps and chairlift rides, I experienced and watched the natural progression of the day. I saw the sun move from east to west. I witnessed the wind blow clouds onto and off of the mountain, casting fog and sunlight. Though, based on light and time, we’ve defined a clear start and end to each day, there’s also very much a middle to each day. If you don’t look at a clock, that start and end is changing all the time—and therefore, I’d argue, that the vast majority of our days are lived “in the middle.”

Nature teaches us about being “in the middle.” Seasons change, rivers flow, and forests thrive in cycles of growth. Snow melts, rivers run, and the natural world comes alive; then, temperatures turn, the world grows colder and darker, and snow falls again.

Barren trees grow leaves and exist vibrantly for a season or two. Then, those leaves change colors and fall to the ground. Months later, the cycle begins again.

Water evaporates from the earth and condenses into clouds. Those clouds build, and in a moment of release, their retained moisture tumbles back to the ground as rain, nourishing the earth—and cycle—anew.

In nature’s cycles, is there a true beginning and end? Sure, though I think it’s often defined by human beings, not by nature itself. So I’d say that nature often exists “in the middle” as well—in a constant cycle of becoming, of unbecoming, of being. These constant states of transition reflect the beauty of existing somewhere in between, something in the middle.

Looking to nature, maybe we realize there’s something to this “in the middle”-ness.

That winter day on the local ski mountain, somewhere in the midst of gleefully gliding down the snowy slopes and taking in the sweeping scenery from the chairlift, I reminded myself of this: “In the middle” isn’t a bad place to be. It’s a natural place to be. You’re not a beginner, but you’re also not proficient. Achieving some expert level isn’t what this is all about. Not for me, at least—and I think that’s the case for the vast majority of us.

It’s so easy for us to beat ourselves up and feel as though we’re “less than” because we can’t do certain things at a certain level.

At the end of the day, we should be pursuing adventures, activities, and so on in life for what they are and how they make us feel. In the middle is a completely good and fair place to be. Most of us are in the middle of something. And we should celebrate that.

The middle is actually a pretty spectacular place. There’s not a whole lot of pressure in the middle. We just are. We’re free to be, free to do. The middle is a celebration of progress—no matter how small—and a sign that we’ve started something meaningful, even if just for ourselves. When you’re in the middle—of an adventure, of a project, of a trip—you’ve likely hit your stride. You’re in the moment, enjoying it.

That day, on the local ski mountain, the crowds dissipated around lunchtime, and that afternoon, I met up with a friend and his friends and skied laps with them. Together, we made our way across the mountain, all within bounds. Ultimately, I savored skiing that day for what it was: an outdoor activity that I enjoy doing because of how I feel when I’m out there. It’s something that allows me to firmly live in the present moment with myself and the people and landscapes that surround me.

There’s a reason so many cliches exist about “the journey” versus “the destination.” Maybe existing—and, dare I say, dancing—in the middle is far more normal than I realized and, admittedly, have embraced in my own life. Perhaps “in the middle” is a celebration of being somewhere. Of having started something. Of moving in any direction, no matter how small the steps may be, feel, seem.

Maybe you already know this. Perhaps we all already know this. But I need the reminder every once in a while. So I’m writing to you, and I’m writing to me. A mini pep talk as we start a new year. As we journey into the year ahead, how and where will we embrace and revel in the many moments—and the way those moments make us feel—in which we find ourselves somewhere in the middle?

Photos by Liam Kaiser. Analog photography—the in-the-moment creative process, the development, the waiting, the unknown—and winter weather also lend themselves well to this “in the middle” concept and feeling.