The Inconspicuous Transition

I've got to admit, I'm finding it hard to ignore all the talk about the end of the world on December 21st. Despite being incredibly vocal about how I'm a scientist and need some sort of verifiable proof before I believe such far-fetched tales, these sorts of rumours usually result in me getting progressively more worked up until, by the time the day finally arrives, I'm so stressed out and paranoid that the sound of a passing plane is enough to make me crap myself and dive under the table in the hope that half an inch of medium-density fibreboard will save me from cataclysmic world-engulfing fire. Fortunately, I embrace my irrational side despite the fact it's governed by the part of my brain that disregards the scientific facts of NASA and the wisdom of common sense, and focuses instead on messages posted on shoddily created websites that look like they've been developed by a shandy-drinking teen sat in his Nan's basement, with only a loose grasp of HTML for company.

Predictably, the only real danger I face in these sorts of situations is from myself. I should know better, or I should at least learn from past experience. Indeed, in my relatively short lifespan, I have survived three prophesied apocalyptic events, yet each one has tormented me in its own special way. To be fair, I was completely unaware of the third Doomsday prophecy until after it happened. I am, of course, referring to the prophecy voiced by the US preacher in 2011 who was adamant that the world was going to end at 6 pm on the 21st May. Vague, I know *Insert sarcasm here*. Suffice to say, had I known about it, I'm fairly sure that the specificity of his prediction would've limited its credibility in my eyes, but I'm reluctant to jump to optimistic conclusions about my level of common sense just yet seeing as I'm currently wondering whether to treat myself to a budget-breaking packet of Marlboro Lights on Friday given that they're going to be my last cigarettes EVER.

Judge me if you will, but I take my naivety as a sign that my mind is still open enough to consider things above and beyond scientific fact. In short, I take it as a sign that I won't turn out like Richard Dawkins, which quite frankly is the best news I've had since I rediscovered KC and the Sunshine Band on my iPod. So, what's my point? Well, all this talk about the apocalypse got me thinking about endings. No double-meaning intended, so if your mind jumped to a filthy conclusion all on its own, then please drag it back into the daylight and allow me to continue.

Ok, so when you think of endings, you probably also think of beginnings. The prevailing belief is that beginnings are positive and endings are negative, although I'm unsure where this belief came from. Some beginnings (such as the birth of a child) are undoubtedly positive. Others (such as the onset of poor health) are clearly negative. The same is true of endings - they can be positive or negative. In some cases, beginnings and endings are neither positive nor negative, but rely solely on the perspective of the individual involved e.g. is it the end of an era or the start of a new one? Indeed, Shakespeare once wrote "nothing is either good or bad, but thinking makes it so". Deep, aren't I? In any case, it's not beginnings and endings that I want to focus on - it's the void of transition that comes in between. I use the term 'void' because, more often than not, people (myself included) miss what happens between these two points. It's easy to see how this happens. We all notice when something starts because there is a detectable change in our lives that comes hand in hand with the arrival of something unfamiliar. Similarly, it's easy to notice when something ends, because there is a detectable change in our lives that comes hand in hand with absence of something familiar. The transition that occurs between these two points, or day-to-day life as it were, is what slips to the void because it seems unremarkable by comparison -  it is neither conspicuous by its novel presence nor detectable by its sudden absence, it is simply inconspicuous.

This inconspicuous 'middle ground' is central to our existence, primarily because the majority of our lives are spent in this period of transition. In fact, our entire lifespan can be reduced to a single a beginning (birth) and a single ending (death), but if we focus only on these two things, we miss the reason we are here (life). This is an extreme example, and I don't know anyone who does this, but I do know people who operate in a similar way but on a much smaller scale - they set a goal, they reach a goal, they start something, they finish something, they measure their life in units of completion and all the while they miss out on the valuable experiences they could be having if they stopped to appreciate the route they're taking.


Like throwing a stone into still water, if we only pay attention to the start and the finish, we miss the most beautiful part of the process - the ripples that occur in between. The ripples may seem unremarkable, but without them there would be no measurable start or finish to speak of, just a series of disconnected, meaningless events. They constitute the majority of our existence and yet they remain unnoticed. They are conspicuous neither by their presence nor their absence, they are simply an inconspicuous transition.