In a world that rewards certainty, direction, and completion, there remains a quieter, often misunderstood space between stages—neither here nor there, neither who we were nor who we will become. This space is liminality. Borrowed from the Latin word limen, meaning "threshold," the term has been historically rooted in anthropology, first introduced by Arnold van Gennep in his study of rites of passage. He described it as the transitional phase individuals undergo when moving between social states. Victor Turner later expanded this concept, identifying liminality as a space where traditional structures dissolve and transformation becomes possible. Although it originated in the context of rituals, the concept of liminality has since evolved into a profound metaphor for the human condition.

We experience liminality in both personal and collective ways. The most common form appears in adolescence—a period often defined by confusion, experimentation, and the search for identity. Erik Erikson, in his psychosocial theory of development, labeled this phase as a struggle between identity and role confusion, a crisis that is central to human development. James Marcia further classified this process into identity diffusion, foreclosure, moratorium, and achievement—each representing different stages of commitment and exploration. Liminality fits particularly within the moratorium stage, where individuals are exploring without fixed commitments, suspended between self-definitions.

Yet liminality does not end with adolescence. Adulthood, despite social expectations of stability, is often a series of transitional states. The end of a relationship, a job change, relocation, or even grief can throw a person into a state of not-quite-knowing. In such phases, people may feel disoriented, insecure, and emotionally unanchored. However, these very moments also carry the potential for reinvention. When the old identity no longer serves and the new one has not yet formed, there exists a powerful opportunity for reflection and growth.

Modern society does not make space for liminality. The linear narrative of success—education, employment, achievement—leaves little room for uncertainty. However, this narrative is increasingly incompatible with contemporary realities. The 21st century has brought a kind of collective liminality, particularly visible during the COVID-19 pandemic. For nearly two years, billions of people lived in a suspended state—post-normal and pre-new-normal. Social routines collapsed, institutions adapted, and the definition of daily life was rewritten. Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman's theory of liquid modernity encapsulates this phenomenon. He argues that modern life is defined not by permanence but by constant change and uncertainty, making liminality not the exception, but the norm.

Cultural expressions have long captured the essence of liminality. Literature is filled with characters who exist in-between: Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye, unsure of adulthood; Meursault in The Stranger, alienated from meaning; or even Gregor Samsa in The Metamorphosis, transformed but undefined. These figures reflect not weakness, but the universal struggle to make sense of self during uncertain transitions. Similarly, films like Inception, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and The Truman Show explore realities that blur lines between perception and truth, identity and illusion. They resonate because they mirror the spaces we inhabit mentally, emotionally, and even socially.

Liminality also has spatial and architectural significance. Anthropologist Marc Augé coined the term “non-places” to describe areas like airports, highways, and hotels—spaces of transience, where identity is temporarily suspended. In these environments, people are between destinations, between roles, and often between selves. The digital world adds another layer: social media profiles and online personas represent curated versions of identity. Users hover between authenticity and performance, between private self and public image. These platforms create a state of constant self-editing—a modern digital liminality.

Despite its creative and transformational potential, liminality carries risks. Without support or understanding, individuals may feel isolated, anxious, or directionless. Turner warned that modern liminality, unlike traditional rites of passage, lacks structure and collective acknowledgment. It becomes a liminoid experience—individualistic and potentially alienating. Psychologically, prolonged liminality without reintegration can contribute to identity crises, depression, and social withdrawal. This is particularly relevant to youth in the digital age, who often exist in extended liminal states shaped by academic pressure, social comparison, and economic uncertainty.

Yet it is precisely in liminality that creativity flourishes. Iain McGilchrist, in The Master and His Emissary, explains that the right hemisphere of the brain—associated with intuition, metaphor, and ambiguity—is essential for innovation. In liminal states, where rules are suspended and identities are fluid, individuals are more likely to explore new perspectives and make novel connections. This helps explain why many innovators, artists, and entrepreneurs report periods of uncertainty or crisis as precursors to breakthroughs. Steve Jobs, for instance, famously dropped out of college, wandered through Eastern philosophy, and studied calligraphy before co-founding Apple. These liminal wanderings were not detours—they were catalysts.

If we are to truly support human potential, we must stop treating liminality as a problem and start treating it as an essential stage of becoming. Education systems, for example, often demand early specialization and discourage exploration. Students are asked to decide on academic and career paths before they fully understand themselves. This creates pressure to perform rather than to explore. Alternatives such as gap years, interdisciplinary learning, and reflective practice must be more widely supported. These allow students to pause, to reflect, and to engage with uncertainty in meaningful ways.

Socially, we must also normalize conversations about not knowing. Vulnerability, as author Brené Brown argues, is not a weakness but a birthplace of connection and courage. By making room for others to share their liminal experiences—uncertainty, failure, change—we help de-stigmatize them. Social and mental health institutions should embrace this framework, treating transitional periods not as dysfunctions to be fixed but as processes to be supported.

Ultimately, liminality offers a kind of liberation. It allows for contradiction, hybridity, and evolution. In a world increasingly polarized by binaries—male/female, success/failure, liberal/conservative—liminality offers a middle space. It allows people to exist in nuance, to carry multiple identities, and to challenge rigid expectations. This is particularly vital for marginalized communities whose identities do not fit into dominant norms. Liminality becomes not only a personal experience, but a political act.

Rather than fear the in-between, we should recognize it as a vital part of the human experience. To be liminal is to be in motion—to question, to break apart, to imagine something new. The road to selfhood, to creation, and to social change passes through the liminal. It is not the space we get stuck in; it is the space where we begin to move again.

Liminality does not mean confusion or failure. It means becoming.

.    .    .