Away We Go: Liminal (Parking) Spaces

A wise counselor once said that transition is one of the most energetically taxing things you can do. It’s the hardest time for those with overflowing worry buckets. Naturally, I have no idea how that would feel and certainly not have experienced such a thing since seven years old.

In the last year I’ve spent a whole lot of time in spaces designed to facilitate transition. No, not airports because, you know, 2020 (and who knows how much longer).

I’m talking about parking lots. Once every ten days or so I find myself in a parked car-and-trailer rig at the far edge of one. We do this when it’s an errand that would take four times as long with all of us, or when the boys are absorbed in their podcast and I’d rather not hear twenty five can-I-have-this’s. So, I sit still in a place designed to be moved through. Somehow it feels like breaking the rules. Purgatory with a traffic pattern.

As with any moment of boredom it’s hard to resist the pull of doomscrolling on my phone but when I do, I feel suspended. Occupying this liminal space gives me a peek back at the life I had when our home didn’t have wheels. I’m just a passerby at the Albertsons in McCall, Idaho but most of these people which aisle has tomato soup.

Watching how people approach the selection of a space, the gathering of things, the getting out, arranging those with them, the entrance, avoiding other cars pulling in and backing out. Then, when they come back - the transfer of items to their car, the return (or not) of the cart, the rearrangement of themselves in the car, the backing out. Although we do all these things by rote, It’s a surprisingly complex endeavor. Amazon is popular for a reason.

I find myself strangely anxious about how long it takes for people to get themselves arranged. Inefficient! Scream my insides. As if any time they are wasting has an iota of impact on me. Maybe it’s something I’m telling myself. Be better! Be faster! Don’t sit still! Do more!

Or maybe there are fewer exclamation points but a more insidious message.

What you’re doing with your time isn’t what it should be. It’s not valuable enough. It’s not impactful enough. It’s not good enough. It’s not enough. You’re not enough.

This is a familiar hamster wheel. My blood pressure is rising watching people I don’t know negotiate a grocery store parking lot. There will be some who will read this and wonder what I’m talking about. And those who are nodding their heads along with me.

So I’ll sit here and think about the way we handle transitioning between states. Literally and figuratively. I’ll exist in suspension and live on the move. Maybe I’ll learn a little about myself. Maybe a little more grace will sneak in. Maybe I’ll try and sit with the uncertainty that comes with transition and its attendant discomfort.

Either way, we’ll hang out here on the edges and soon be on our way.

This story inspired by events on the edges of King Soopers, City Market, Grocery Outlet, Walmart, Albertsons, Smith’s, and Winco stores across the American West.