between thresholds

On softening edges, dissolving perfectionism, and trusting the in-between

We’re in that time of year where boundaries blur ~ where the seasons dance along thresholds. A boundless, vast, melting dance of life that is neither here nor there. Neither behind nor ahead. Neither finished or anew. Some deep internal parts of me, the parts that once felt shackled, now feel ready to dissolve.

A few days ago, I started writing this piece during the biggest blizzard I’ve seen since I was a little girl. The snow arrived after a few warm days that completely melted the sheets of ice along the Hudson River. Those few days felt so precious, feeling the sun’s warmth across my skin, as I emerged for my first afternoon walk in what felt like months.

And then, out of no where, the winter snow re-emerged and carried us back indoors. The art of a million snowflakes descended upon my world, frosting the earth with crystalline gems. Nature is neither here nor there, and she does not try to make sense to us all.

These days, I notice that I no longer panic in these liminal spaces… I no longer try to jump ahead to Spring. I no longer try to force an outcome, or an identity, or a way of being. I no longer feel that debilitating fear of resting in the in-between.

I recognize that this feeling, this ebb and flow between worlds, is actually quite a familiar place for me. I was born on this threshold, teetering the edges between winter and spring. Eternally familiar with the expansiveness of letting go and the anticipation of beginning anew.

I lived enough of life to know that the unknown is the space most ripe for potential… that if we’re living awake and honest lives, we already know that we don’t know (what’s next). Not really anyway. One day you’re basking in sunshine and the next day you’re slugging through snow so thick it seeps into your boots and sends shivers down your spine. It’s all unknown, and when I stop trying to jump ahead, I realize how beautiful right here really is. You can’t outrun yourself, regardless of what season you’re in. You can’t ‘arrive’ within a perpetually-evolving life.

the blizzard © 2026 Aaliyah Madadi

The other day, I went to my first adult painting class, an early birthday gift to myself. In the first few minutes of arriving at this creative studio, I noticed my soul so happy and alive! An older man was working away on a masterful painting of a cabin house, clearly lost in a creative flow. Someone else was painting a chocolate sprinkle birthday cake that I would delightfully eat if it were real. A young woman was sketching a stunning drawing of her cat, each fibre of fur so textured and lifelike. Another woman came in late and whipped up a painting of the Brooklyn Bridge in the time it took me to choose a reference photo and begin mixing colors. To be amongst people who prioritize and show up for their art is such an invisible gift we can give to each other, every time we show up for our own.

As a beginner, my teachers recommended that I begin with a landscape painting so I can explore some foundational techniques. But what I loved most is that they didn’t teach me anything, really. Instead, they encouraged me to just start.

After laying the foundation of my canvas, I looked at the clouds in my reference photo — textured, fluffy, imperfect clouds, and I wondered how I could recreate something so soft and ethereal with my hands. I started my approach the only way I knew how… painting an animated outline of each cloud — a clear stark boundary between clouds and sky.

When the teacher came over, she gently took my brush and swiped along the harsh edges of my clouds… I felt my body soften and a smile form along my lips.

Relax, she said, let it be soft. Don’t take it all so seriously. I noticed how hard I was trying, how much my perfectionism was creating a boundary between me as the artist and the art I was creating.

I noticed something shift in me throughout the rest of class — a playful dance between the parts of me that wanted to be ‘good’, to make something ‘worthy’, and the truer parts of me that just wanted to relax, play, enjoy, and not worry so much about the outcome.

Throughout the rest of class, I blurred all my edges and dissolved my hard lines. I stopped trying to make everything so obvious and defined. I allowed my hand to simply flow between thresholds — a little bit of clouds, a little bit of sky, a little of land. Time warped and I emerged from class feeling so light and free.

I didn’t know how much my first painting class would teach me about life ~ relax. soften. stop taking yourself so seriously. Let life dance between the thresholds of seasons, of identities, of your own becoming. Notice where you’ve drawn hard boundaries and soften the edges. Notice where you think you’ve softened, but are still bracing for impact. Trust fall into the mountain of snow and notice how the earth is there to catch you. Tomorrow, the sun will rise and you will begin anew.

Thanks so much for being here 🌸

With love,

aaliyah | The Artist’s Temple

my first painting class © 2026 Aaliyah Madadi

In case you missed it:

A new season of yin yoga classes begin next Sunday over on YouTube. This is a heartfelt backyard story on invisible acts of kindness, inspired by my 80-something neighbor and his love of birds and wildlife. This is a nostalgic piece on Returning to an Analog Life and it makes me so happy hearing how so many people also feel this call away from everything digital. This is a raw and vulnerable piece on finding your place within the chaos of a burning world.

💞💞