In the In-Between

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A slight wave of sadness came over me this evening,

not heavy enough to drown,

just enough to remind me I’m still human.

For seven years I’ve lived inside motion: working, studying, writing, teaching, researching,

trying to build something that will outlast me.

Most days, the work feels like meaning itself.

But sometimes, when the world goes still,

I feel the faint pull of existential displacement;

as if the self that creates has wandered

away from the self that simply exists.

I realize how few invitations I’ve accepted,

how long it’s been since I let someone see me

without the armor of accomplishment.

It isn’t loneliness, not exactly—

I love the quiet, the long stretches of thought.

Yet somewhere in the solitude,

an ontological drift begins:

the slow sense of being slightly misaligned

with the living pulse of others.

And still, I know this path is mine.

There’s a kind of existential alignment in it—

a rhythm that fits the grain of who I am.

Creation steadies me,

and the solitude that isolates

is also the space that makes the work possible.

To live this way is to accept both hunger and fulfillment,

to find self-satisfaction not in applause

but in the quiet certainty of having followed

the thread that feels true.

Maybe that’s the price of devotion—

the slow drift from the center of things.

Or maybe it’s just the reminder

that meaning isn’t built only in sentences,

but in being seen, remembered,

and gently called back to the world.

That wave of sadness, I see now, is part of the work itself.

It rises, it fades, and somehow, I continue.

Goodnight my friends.

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RJ Starr

About the Author:

 RJ Starr is a psychology educator, author, and host of The Psychology of Us, a podcast exploring emotional insight and human behavior. His work focuses on how personal and cultural histories shape the way we think, relate, and grow. Learn more at profRJstarr.com.