The In-Between: Where Madness Meets Magic

The in-between.

That aching space between winter’s last whisper and spring’s first exhale. Where the world teeters between frost and thaw, between hibernation and awakening, between the grip of the past and the beckoning of the new. It is all the things—confusing, frustrating, maddening.

One day, the air is soft, teasing, filled with the faintest hint of something warm, something possible. The next, winter cackles, slams the door shut, and covers the earth in a sharp reminder: Not yet, darling.

Not yet.

This is the space where patience is tested, where longing blooms before the flowers do. It is where the earth itself seems unsure….. snowdrops peeking too soon, only to be smothered by ice, the trees holding their breath, unsure if they dare unfurl their buds. And I feel it, too. The restless, desperate wanting. The hunger for the moment when it all shifts.

But oh, when it happens.

When that first bloom unfurls, soft and defiant, rising from the thawed earth like a whispered promise—I am here now.

And I swoon.

Every year, it woos me like a love affair I didn’t know I needed. The first bloom, the first true spring wind that carries the scent of soil and possibility, the first morning that feels like an invitation rather than a dare. It’s the proof that every storm, every freeze, every dark and brittle night was worth it. Because this moment—the one where life steps forward, bold and laughing—is more beautiful for the waiting.

And isn’t this just the way of leadership?

To stand in the in-between, holding the weight of not yet while keeping faith in soon. To trust in something that hasn’t fully revealed itself. To carry the vision of what could be through the icy winds of doubt, knowing that transformation is not an event but a becoming.

It takes a special kind of courage to bloom first.

To push through frozen ground when winter still lingers. To be the lone flower in a field still sleeping. To lead when no one else is sure the season is changing.

But when it does—when the world catches up, when the sun stays a little longer, when the cold finally lets go—oh, how glorious it is to stand in the fullness of what once felt impossible.

So here’s to the in-between. The restless, maddening, thrilling, necessary space where growth happens. Where the frost and the bloom exist together. Where we, like the earth, learn the art of holding on and letting go, of trusting the unseen, of knowing that even the longest winter must eventually surrender.

Because spring always comes. And when it does?

It is everything.