Nobody Claps for the Middle

Everybody loves a beginning.

New job.

New horse.

New relationship.

New goal.

New year.

New planner with all those pretty little boxes you swear to God you're actually going to use this time.

Beginnings are exciting.

And everybody loves a finish line.

The buckle.

The diploma.

The promotion.

The before-and-after picture.

The keys to the new place.

The screenshot that says you finally did the damn thing.

Those are easy to post.

But nobody really claps for the middle.

And unfortunately, most of life happens there.

The middle is where the shiny wears off.

It's when you've been working at something long enough that people stop asking how it's going.

It's when you're tired of being "strong."

It's when the horse was improving and then suddenly you have three rides in a row that make you question whether either one of you knows a damn thing.

It's when you make the brave decision...

and then wake up the next morning and realize you still have to live through every miserable, awkward, inconvenient step between deciding and becoming.

That's the part nobody puts on a coffee mug.

Probably because:

"Congratulations on being mildly uncomfortable, emotionally exhausted and uncertain for an undetermined amount of time"

doesn't sell particularly well at Hobby Lobby.

But maybe it should.

Because I've started realizing something.

The middle might actually be the most important part.

I see it constantly with horses.

People love the finished horse.

The one that walks into an arena, does its job, stands quietly, responds correctly and makes everything look effortless.

What you don't see are the hundreds of boring rides that built that horse.

The circles.

The transitions.

The ugly stops.

The fights you shouldn't have picked.

The fights you absolutely had to.

The days you got off feeling like an idiot.

The days somebody had to back up and reteach something they swore was already learned.

The rides where absolutely nothing impressive happened except the horse was maybe 2% better than yesterday.

Nobody cheers for those rides.

But that's where the horse gets made.

People aren't much different.

We want transformation to look dramatic.

We want the movie montage.

Cue the music.

Run some stairs.

Cry once in the rain.

Come back hotter, richer, emotionally healed and somehow with better hair.

Unfortunately, actual change is usually a lot uglier.

Most of it looks like quietly eating shit for a while and continuing anyway.

Doing the next right thing when nobody notices.

Getting up.

Making the call.

Sending the application.

Having the uncomfortable conversation.

Setting the boundary and then feeling guilty as hell about setting it.

Trying the thing again after you embarrassed yourself the first time.

Paying the bill you wish didn't exist.

Admitting something isn't working.

Changing direction.

Saving twenty bucks.

Walking instead of running.

Starting over without making some big announcement that you're starting over.

Sometimes growth isn't charging forward.

Sometimes it's realizing you need to back up three steps because somewhere along the way you skipped something important.

That's not sexy.

That's not inspirational.

That's training.

And I think we've gotten so obsessed with visible progress that we've forgotten how much invisible work happens before anything worth showing exists.

There are seasons of life where you don't have a big announcement.

You don't have the success story yet.

You don't know exactly how everything is going to turn out.

Hell, some days you don't even know if you're making the right decision.

All you know is:

I can't go back.

And maybe that's enough.

Because there's a strange little place between who you were and who you're becoming.

It can be lonely as hell there.

Your old life doesn't quite fit anymore.

Your new one isn't built yet.

So you're standing in the middle of the construction zone surrounded by metaphorical drywall dust thinking,

Well. This looked a hell of a lot better in my head.

Some days you feel brave.

Other days you wonder if you've completely lost your mind.

Probably both can be true.

But that's the middle.

And maybe instead of treating it like some miserable waiting room we have to escape, we should give it a little more respect.

Because this is where you learn whether you actually want what you said you wanted.

This is where discipline replaces excitement.

This is where confidence gets built instead of borrowed.

This is where you find out what you're willing to fight for.

And sometimes what you're finally willing to walk away from.

This is where you learn to trust yourself.

Not because everything worked out.

But because everything hasn't worked out yet...

and you're still standing.

Maybe a little beat up.

Maybe pissed off.

Maybe tired.

Maybe questioning every life choice that led you here.

But still standing.

Still trying.

Still adjusting.

Still moving.

Maybe slowly.

Maybe awkwardly.

Maybe taking two steps forward and occasionally backing your butt straight into a metaphorical barrel.

Still counts.

I think some of us need permission to stop measuring our lives only by the obvious wins.

Maybe you haven't arrived.

But look at what you don't tolerate anymore.

Look at what you've learned the hard way.

Look at the conversations you're finally willing to have.

Look at what you're attempting now that terrified you a year ago.

Look at the things that used to knock you down for weeks that now knock you down for an afternoon.

Look at the times you wanted to quit, blow everything up, crawl back into something familiar or say "screw it"...

and didn't.

That's progress too.

Quiet progress is still progress.

Ugly progress is still progress.

Progress nobody understands but you is still progress.

And if you're currently somewhere in the middle...

with nothing shiny to show for it yet...

keep going.

There will be time for the finish-line picture later.

Right now, do the boring work.

Ride the circles.

Fix the little things.

Have the hard conversation.

Make the uncomfortable choice.

Get your ass back up.

Take the next step.

Nobody may be clapping yet.

That's okay.

You're not performing.

You're building.