My new favorite word is liminal.
Not only is “liminal” a lovely word to say and feel on the lips, reminding me a bit of that scene in Donnie Darko, about “cellar door” being the most beautiful combination of words in the English language, but I love its meaning too.
My old red dictionary defines it as “of, pertaining to, or situated at the limen,” and limen means threshold.
My online dictionary defines it as “occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold” or “relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.”
Other words and phrases that come to mind when I think of “liminal” are…
- on the verge
- between
- blurring edges
- borders
- having a hand in two worlds
- transition
- transformation
- possibilities & potential
- fleeting
- almost and not quite and soon
Liminal makes me think of twilight, one of my favorite times of day, when the air can be purple or yellow or pink or just a calm cozy shadowy gray, when the crows go to sleep, when the opossums wake and crunch through the leaves looking for snacks, when the first stars appear, when the question pops into my head—“Do I want a campfire tonight?”—when I sit on the porch and look and listen and don’t want to come inside because I might miss something.
Liminal makes me think of witchery. When does a tea become a potion? When does a thought become a prayer? Where is the line between admiring a tree and worshipping it? What’s the difference between writing a poem and casting a spell? Is there one?
Liminal reminds me of this whole time of year, the weeks between October and January, transitioning through Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Winter Solstice, Christmas, and New Year, giving treats and thanks and gifts and blessings, watching the trees change color and making resolutions.
I think LIMINAL will be my word for 2026. Maybe I’m on the verge of something. A new identity? A new project? A new path? Or maybe I’m finally just recognizing how “liminal” life is in general, always changing, always balancing between one direction and another. I’m turning fifty in the upcoming year—the start of my own personal twilight?—so perhaps that’s the threshold inspiring me to embrace hazy boundaries and be open to unexplored territories.
Speaking of unexplored territories, I’ve never actually celebrated the solstice before, which I feel a bit strange admitting since I love nature and feel a strong connection to the earth this time of year. However, it’s never too late to start a new tradition. Tomorrow, on the first day of winter, I’ll build a fire and… see what happens. I may make some nature-inspired crafts or do a tarot reading for the new year or write some poetry by the light of the flames.
Care to join me? I don’t mean literally. This year I’m craving some quiet time to myself amongst all the social gatherings and holiday travel, so I’ll be celebrating the solstice solo. But there is power in community, even from afar, and I believe that collective positivity can light up the world, even on the darkest night of the year. So, consider taking a moment or two tomorrow to appreciate nature and honor the Earth and offer up some affirmation to the atmosphere.
If you don’t have time for a full solstice ritual, I encourage you to spend a few minutes listening to this hauntingly beautiful choral rendition of Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” composed by Eric Whitacre. I had the pleasure of hearing my friend’s choir perform this piece at their Winter Solstice concert last week, and the experience has stuck with me. The song itself is an embodiment of the word “liminal,” a balancing act between poetry and music, walking the line between eerie and enchanting.
Whatever you do tomorrow, do it with intention and appreciation for world around you.
Carie Juettner 