Living Liminally, Languishing Literally

I’ve lived my whole life in the in‑between. I was born on June 21st, on an equinox—balanced on a hinge between seasons. I don’t put much stock in horoscopes, but the symbolism has always felt uncomfortably accurate. My life has been one long threshold.

Growing up, people asked me the usual questions: What’s your favorite toy? Favorite food? Favorite game? Even now, as a teacher in Japan, my students ask me the same things. And every time, I hesitate. Not because I don’t like anything, but because I like too many things in too many ways. My mood carries more weight than any declaration. I don’t have favorites. I live in the spaces between them.

I’m drawn to ghosts, folklore, stories that whisper what if…? I love the things that exist on the edges of categories, the things that refuse to settle. And yet, I married someone who is the opposite. My wife is my anchor—steady, grounded, decisive. She lets me drift, but she always knows when to pull me back. It happens more often than I’d like to admit.

This liminal nature puts me in the Devil’s advocate role more often than not. People tell me I’d make a good philosopher or psychologist. Others say I’m nebulous, undefined, too comfortable on the fence. They’re not wrong. I sit there until I’ve seen every angle, and even then, when I finally choose, I wonder if it was the right one.

After fifty‑plus years of living this way—and living between cultures as a Canadian in Japan—I’ve found myself in a strange position. I’m expected to be an authority figure. To make decisions. To be clear. To be final. And that has been difficult lately, because clarity doesn’t come naturally to someone who sees the world in gradients.

Becoming a content creator has made this tension sharper. Reviews, opinions, recommendations—these things require a kind of certainty I don’t always have. I do have strong opinions, but unless they’re forged from hard, lived experience, they feel provisional. Subject to change. Mutable.

So I’ve tried to bridge my liminal side with the demands of creation. Instead of declaring what’s “good” or “bad,” I share what I perceive and let the audience decide. It sounds simple. It isn’t. It’s far easier to share my feelings than to distill them into something definitive. Passion comes quickly; clarity comes slowly. And after the passion fades, ambiguity returns.

Still, I do my best. That’s all any of us can do.

These are my thoughts today. Tomorrow, we’ll see.