Jenna Arnold calls it the sacred grey. I had a mentor once refer to it as the precinct of patience. I've heard a few (those who dabble in astrology—not for me, but have at 'er if that's your speed) name it the "in-between" or the "under-up," I can't quite remember. The point is, plenty of people have phrases for that space between states or binaries in which folks get real uncomfortable real quick.
Certainty doesn't survive in the land of nuance and waiting. It's a far more real world than the one we build on wibbly, adamant ideas and occupy most of the time. Yet, that's where all the best stuff resides. It's a place of treasure and wisdom and, for me, abject frustration. A place where understanding and curiosity are rewarded immediately with the possibility that everything or nothing could happen all at once. Or some middle thing on that vast continuum between all and none.
I'm waiting for shoes to drop right now. Good shoes. Great shoes in fact. Shoes that will decide the next terrain I hike or run or trip over. And in the meantime, I do my best to huck a few more up and into the wind. Submissions for poems, plays, screenplays, comics, short stories, children's books. Nominations for awards, applications to new and exciting careers, etc.
I'm doing my level-best to remain patient. To remember that only the work is mine, not the results (the shoes—note to self, only dumb metaphors need parenthetical explanations).
Anywhen, I've decided to stop in here and talk about the shoes as they are both tossed and landing. What's a writer to do except write.