The Season of Becoming

There’s a moment in migration where a bird doesn’t belong to the place it left... and hasn’t arrived where it’s going.

It exists in the in-between sky. No nest. No familiar branches. No landmarks that say “You are home”. Just wings and trust.

Lately I’ve been feeling a little like that bird: suspended between versions of myself. I kept wondering why it’s so hard to return to places that once felt like home. Why something that used to fit so naturally now feels distant.

A good friend gently told me that feeling has a name. It’s grief.

The quiet sadness of comparing now with then.The ache of realizing you can’t step back into a version of life that already passed. And maybe that sadness is part of migration too.

From the outside, the in-between can look lonely. Directionless. But the bird isn’t lost. It’s moving with a wisdom written into its bones. The sky isn’t a mistake, it’s a crossing.

Maybe the feeling of not belonging isn’t always a sign that something is wrong. Maybe it’s a season of becoming. A quiet crossing between versions of yourself. A space where the old world no longer fits, but the new one hasn’t fully opened yet.

The sky can feel vast when you’re inside it, but it’s also proof you’re traveling.

And sometimes belonging doesn’t start with finding the right flock. Sometimes it starts with trusting your own wings first. 🌻