This guest blog is contributed by Abbie Roth, an Honors student at the University of Missouri. She is currently enrolled in the Honors Seminar “Liminality and Imagination.”

Liquify

In the spirit of liminality, I’ll begin with an ending.

It’s my birthday and I’m walking into the Tivoli Theater on the Delmar Loop in St. Louis with my mom. We’re on our way to watch Free Solo, a rock climbing documentary on the first man to climb El Capitan in Yosemite without ropes. My mom had grown up rock climbing, and encouraged me to do the same.

This was my last birthday with my mom. The following summer, I’d be scattering her
ashes off the shores of the lake that had cradled our family for generations.

The next six years were spent away from home, living within the foster system of St.
Louis. Never quite permanent, I was waiting until the day I would turn eighteen, and plunge into
my own path. Always distracting myself from the present, I’d daydream about the day I’d finally
escape, and what came next. Eventually that day came. I left for college, and completed my first
year.

My first year came with many blessings. I found an incredible support system, and truly
felt as though I had come into myself. I had finally achieved my long awaited goal. And yet,
something rippled through me, unclear and uncomfortable. In all my time spent looking towards
the future, I had never come to terms with the past.

Searching for the opportunity to process, I applied to work at the home-town sailing club
my family had been part of for generations. My own great grandfather had served as
commodore, and I had grown up splashing on the rocky peninsula. I would return as lifeguard
and groundskeeper, maintaining and improving the place I love.

And so I embarked on a micro-pilgrimage of my own. Three months on the lake filled by
the springs my mom and I drank from years ago. I knew I would have to let go of the familiar
structure of grief I had experienced for a third of my life. Processing, however difficult it may be,
is necessary for forward movement.

Living on the property meant I spent seven days a week sitting on the same dock my
mom played on as a child, tanned on as a teen, and brought me to play on in my own childhood.
This was vulnerable, and admittedly very difficult. Reflections of my mother appeared in every
wave, birch tree, and friendly face. I reflected her back to relatives and family friends.
When I first read that “We must first liquify before we feel our emergent wings” in The Liminal Loop,
the line deeply resonated with me. It captures the vulnerability of entering the liminal, where all structure
dissolves. Even wrapped in your own chrysalis, you can experience something completely raw,
alien, and transformative.

Every day, during the peak five weeks of summer, a monarch butterfly would visit me,
almost like clockwork. About an hour out from the end of my shift, it would flutter, brilliant
orange over deep blue waters, and rest at my feet. Eventually, it would fly back to shore, and I
would anticipate its return the following day.

Over those five weeks, I set through the intentional journey of allowing my grief to
surface. Communitas has been described as a sense of sharing and intimacy developed around a
state of liminality. My reconnection with the community which has enveloped my family for
nearly a century was profound. I was diving into a setting unknown to me for many years, fearful
of the isolation I might experience. I was instead welcomed with a flood of love and support.

Ritual is the grounding force within spaces of liminality. For years, meditation has been a
ritual of mine, allowing me to cope with anxiety. On the lake, this adapted into sunset
paddleboard rides, focusing on breathwork. In these few moments of total isolation and
tranquility, floating on shifting waters, I made more concrete progress than I ever have on stable
ground.

Eventually, a storm ripped through northwestern Michigan. Afterwards I was cleaning up
the property. I was confronted with fallen birds nests, wrecked tree limbs, and a single monarch
butterfly, wing battered, laying on the shore. As I laid my friend to rest on a small patch of
milkweed, repressed emotions sloshed to the surface. I knew my time in Michigan was coming
to an end, and soon I’d be back to the familiarity of my college town.

Now I am welcoming the New Year. I’ve always struggled to wade through time,
constantly oriented towards my end goal. While futurism can be motivating, I often find it
dampening my experience in the current. My resolution – to enjoy the process. Enjoying the now
requires embracing the depths of liminality – letting go of old comfort before embracing new
successes.

I am in the process. Applying to nursing school, starting new classes, and planning my
return to Michigan come summer. More than that, I am existing day-to-day, betwixt and between.

— Abbie Roth, Winter 2026