What If You’re Not Ready Yet?
Nova on her first day of Kindergarten, September 2, 2026 (face blurred for safety)
Let’s talk about thresholds.
Literally, a threshold is the thing you step over when you walk through a doorway. It’s the in-between space, where you’re leaving one known place and stepping into something new. You might think you know what’s on the other side. You might even be excited and think you’re ready. But stepping into a new reality still takes trust and a good bit of courage.
This morning was one of those threshold moments.
Today is my granddaughter Nova’s first day of Kindergarten. We celebrated with First Day French Toast, space buns in her hair, and lots of pictures. She filled out a little chalkboard saying that when she grows up she will be a Singer Scientist, and that she loves her Mommy and Daddy, camping, and Encanto. When she got out of the car at drop-off, she turned around, blew a kiss to her parents, and walked into the school talking with the teacher. She was so brave. She is ready.
This morning was also my other granddaughter Essie’s third day at a new full-time daycare. Her threshold moment doesn’t feel celebratory at all. Her whole little world has changed this year. Her parents are separated and her mom began working full time. So there’s a new daycare, she’s moving between two homes, and even the adults haven’t settled into a predictable rhythm yet. The new daycare is farther from home than her old preschool, and the traffic is horrible, so the start is extra early. And the teacher with the brown hair is mean, but the teacher with the pink hair is nice. She cried for two hours this morning before being dropped off. I’m sure it’s awful for my son to have to leave her when she’s that distressed.
I’m witnessing two little girls moving forward in their lives, but one transition is wrapped in French toast and photographs while the other is wrapped in tears.
Both are growing. Both are being asked to adapt to something new. And both are deeply loved.
Standing at the threshold of ready and not-ready-yet.
We tend to romanticize thresholds when we’re choosing them. New season! New beginning! New chapter! But a threshold is also the place where the familiar ends before the unfamiliar has become home.
Maybe that’s why both of my granddaughters’ experiences touched me so deeply this morning. They gave me a very visceral picture of something I’ve experienced so often, and still experience in big and small ways. The thresholds I’ve been crossing lately: updating my website, submitting my memoir to a literary agent, joining an artist program at the Delaware Art Museum, and building collaborations to grow my creative business.
Even when what’s on the other side eventually becomes okay, or even wonderful, the crossing itself can hurt. And sometimes I’ve felt ready and excited for a new adventure, only to find that what was on the other side was very different from what I expected.
But I’ve learned one thing: a plant doesn’t flourish by staying exactly where and how it was. Growth involves thresholds: breaking the seed coat, pushing through soil, putting out something tender that hasn’t existed before.
And I’ve noticed that when I’m about to walk through a new threshold, I more often feel hesitant and fearful like Essie than confident and ready like Nova.
Lately, I’ve been painting a woman holding a paintbrush that seems to glow with its own light. Underneath her are faint words left from the painting that lived on this canvas before her: What you desire is on the other side.
Lumen by Lori Poff Kellogg, September 2026. If you zoom in, you may be able to see the words faintly on the right side.
I didn’t plan for those words to stay visible. But now I love that they’re still there. Because maybe we don’t always cross a threshold knowing exactly what waits for us. Maybe sometimes we just need enough light to take the next step.
So maybe a threshold isn’t always You’re entering a season when everything will feel wonderful.
Maybe instead it’s: Even when the path takes you across a difficult threshold, don’t assume you’ve lost your way.
You can be excited and have your heart hurt today.
Nova can be ready. Essie can be not-ready-yet.
Maybe flourishing makes room for all of it.