The In-Between Places

…and Why They Matter More Than We Thin

There’s something about service stations, train carriages, and long car journeys that I’ve never quite been able to explain. It’s not the destination, and it’s not even the journey, not really. It’s the in-between space.

There’s a strange, suspended place where you’re not where you were, but you haven’t yet arrived where you’re going. No one expects anything of you there. You don’t belong to the last place anymore, and the next place hasn’t claimed you yet. You’re… unanchored. And there’s a kind of freedom in that.

Sitting in a service station with a cup of tea you didn’t really want, watching people who are also passing through. Or staring out of a train window, fields blurring past, knowing none of it is yours to hold onto. For a moment, you’re not tied to roles or responsibilities or expectations. You’re just moving. Existing. Passing through.

Perhaps this is what Kermit meant when he sang “Halfway up the stairs is the stair where I sit.” Not up, not down, just… there.

But I think it’s more than just calm. I think these in-between spaces are some of the only places where we can actually think properly.

Because when you’re “in” your life; your home, your office, your routines, you’re already inside the decisions you’ve made. You’re surrounded by them, reinforcing them, living them out. There’s no space to question them. But in the in-between space, you’re not held in place by anything. No walls, no expectations, no immediate demands pulling at you.

Your mind can shift and lift.

And that’s when the questions sneak in. Is this actually where I want to go? Do I still want what I said I wanted? Is there another way?

It’s not planning in the usual sense. It’s not lists and deadlines. It’s orientation. A quiet moment where you can see both where you’ve been and where you might be heading, without being pulled too hard in either direction.

And here’s the interesting bit: you can’t quite fake it.

Driving to a service station as a destination isn’t the same. Sitting in a café “to think” doesn’t quite land either. Because part of what creates this space is the fact that you are genuinely in transit. You’ve stepped out of one identity, but you haven’t stepped into the next one yet. It’s real. No one knows where you are - a sort of Heisenbergs uncertainty service station - you may be there, you may not.

So what do you do if you don’t have a journey? How do you create that kind of space on purpose?

Maybe it’s not about copying the environment. Maybe it’s about creating the conditions — stepping away from where you normally think, removing yourself from the people who know you, being somewhere you don’t belong for a little while, giving yourself a clear before and after. Even a walk where you deliberately leave your “normal” behind, without rushing to arrive anywhere. Perhaps it’s about no one knowing where you are - so keep it to yourself.

Because what we’re really looking for isn’t the service station or the train carriage.

It’s the moment where life loosens its grip just enough for you to ask:

Am I still heading where I want to go?