Termination/Liberation

Notes from the liminal space

Preface: If you didn’t read Log Girl Summer or Log Girl Gets Her Answer, you might want to start there for context.

Dear beloved readers,

Today, I want to share with you some notes from the liminal space between the old life and the new, the slash mark between termination and liberation. This is the first day of the rest of my life. Allow me to reintroduce myself! Here is my fresh bio, which I’m slowly tweaking:

Stephanie Knox Steiner, PhD (she/her), is a peace educator, writer, and community weaver whose work dwells at the fertile edge of enchantment and disturbance, exploring how we might unlearn separation and remember our interbeing with all of life. Her teaching, research, and writing focus on regenerative peace pedagogies, re-enchanting and reimagining education in precarious times, and transrational ways of knowing, including community dreamwork as a practice of relational learning and collective imagination. An alumna and former professor at the University for Peace, she is an ordained member of the Order of Interbeing in the tradition of Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh and co-founded the Jill Knox Peace through Humor Fellowship, a professional development program for peacebuilders offered through the Humor Academy of the Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor. She lives in Costa Rica with her daughter and writes Enchantable, a Substack exploring interbeing, dreams, creativity, and the art of living an enchantable life.

These are rare moments in life, when one is pushed to start over, to expand. I do not take this moment for granted. I know this is a gift that I will not squander.

My friend Karen asked, on my recent Instagram post, “What if the liminal space is the real work?”¹

Greetings from the liminal space between my old life and this new one.
This is more than between jobs.
This is between versions of me.
Between worlds.
This is me, and this is it.

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There are so many things I want to share with you from this experience. Not all of it is fit for public ears and eyes, and not all needs to come out in this moment. There is time for the stories to unfold. There have been wild synchronicities and a total outpouring of support that I know in my bones reflects what I pour into the world. Each message, each affirmation, each testimonial from a former student - it almost feels like a funeral, in the way that people don’t often get to hear these things about themselves when they are alive. I am soaking in each message, re-reading them, and saving them for later in this process if I am having a hard day (because, please know, in case it’s not clear, while this is incredibly liberating, there are hard moments mixed in, too). And maybe it is a funeral of sorts, as this old life dies and a new one emerges.

The thing is, I began grieving this job a long time ago, when I set a professional workplace boundary and was met with hostility. At that point, I grieved the gap between what the job could have been - and what it was on its best days, which was an absolute dream - and what it actually was, which on its worst days, was an absolute nightmare due to the toxic workplace environment. This is also the gap between what the institution could be and what it is in practice, which most people who come through its gates feel.

I have been surprised by this lack of grief, but I realized that, because I began grieving it a long time ago, the predominant feeling has been liberation. From the moment I received an email from HR about a meeting the next day, after the initial shock, I felt freedom. Great relief. A giant weight lifted. That day, not knowing what the meeting was about (in typical institutional fashion, not being given an agenda or so much as a topic), I knew that no matter what happened in that meeting, this was important information my body was giving me. This is not to diminish the real harm and loss embedded in the situation, but the predominant feeling has been freedom.

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Let me tell you about a few magical moments in this process.

On the solstice, I hosted my usual Enchantable seasonal ritual and celebration. During the ritual, I received the message from the universe through my dear friend Janet: “You are a treasure.” Her words rang through me like a bell. In that moment, in which I was experiencing acute burnout from institutional dysfunction, I knew I needed to hear those words, which stood in stark contrast to the frequent messages of disparagement and devaluation I received through institutional leadership.

Then I wrote about Log Girl Summer on Sunday, which, in hindsight, was prescient, bordering on prophetic. On Monday, I got the email from HR, which was the beginning of the answer to my question about letting the academy consume me. By Tuesday, I had been consumed. Digested.

Terminated.

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When I received the email from HR on Monday night, I was in the middle of reading my acceptance letter from the Acosta Institute fellowship program. The letter felt like an echo of Janet’s message, a doubling down and an affirmation of it that had me feeling treasured, seen, valued, and uplifted. I had been invited to apply for the fellowship a few weeks before, and had just received the acceptance on Monday. In the acceptance letter, they wrote:

“Your application reflected a rare combination of wisdom, humility, imagination, and commitment to meaningful change. From what you shared, it's clear that you carry a deep commitment to cultivating spaces where people can grow, heal, learn, and reconnect with what matters most. The way you spoke about stewardship, accompaniment, mindfulness, community-building, and creating more aligned ways of living reflects exactly the kind of leadership this fellowship seeks to nurture. We believe your presence will bring tremendous depth to our community, and your experiences across higher education, peace education, contemplative practice, and community-based learning will enrich conversations throughout the cohort.”

I had received the email earlier in the day when I was teaching in the youth summer program. I saved it to return to later in the evening to soak in the words. I was dwelling in those words when another email popped up on my screen from HR: The rector wants to meet with you in his office tomorrow afternoon.

The juxtaposition was so striking, I wish I had a screenshot. These two messages on my screen at the same time, of disposability and treasure. As the great Macklemore once said, “One man’s trash, that’s another man’s come up.”

We are coming up.

On July 12, I will begin the fellowship, which is “a healing-centered community for leaders building the future of education, business, and technology” (does that not sound like my people?!). The timing feels divine and deeply aligned. I had been accepted into the fellowship a year ago, but declined because my plate was too full and I didn’t feel I could give it the time and focus it deserved. The universe swept in with the perfect opportunity before the old one had even had a chance to kick me out, my plate now cleared, ready to receive it.

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After the initial shock, I immediately slid into feelings of relief and liberation. What if this was it? I thought to myself. I felt the release of all I had been holding for years at this point, and I felt immense relief. The days since - because it has all happened so fast - have been a wild mix of events and emotions, but largely a vacillation between liberation and rage. I also feel deeply for my colleagues who are left behind in the rubble and the void of our absence, in an atmosphere of fear, anguish, sadness, and anger.

I have never trusted in life more deeply than I do in this moment. It is a trust that I know I have cultivated over time, that I am in a deep relationship with the web of life and trust it, and know that I am caught, carried, held. I have a deep sense of knowing that this is for the best, not just for me, but for all involved - even for the institution, even though they will be missing the immense contributions of my colleagues and me. This moment is a reckoning, and if the institution seizes the moment, it too will be better for it.

In the days since, I have had this experience of feeling like a bird who has been in a cage and who is just starting to remember how far they can spread their wings. I am remembering what it means to fly. During my time there, while I received much external validation and numerous invitations to teach and speak globally - I was literally flown around the world - I have been sitting with how much my work was invisibilized and diminished within the university. I also have this sense of how I had to try to fly under the radar and do my work out of the visibility of the upper leadership in order to do the critical work that is peace education.

I spent my energy trying to fly under the radar. Now it is time to soar.

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I wrote a goodbye letter, my final offering to the UPEACE community, which I sent out on my last day. Someday, I might put out a public version (the version I sent out was meant for the community and referenced things that would require explanation to a wider audience). Here is an excerpt:

…A central tenet of peace education is that we must critically examine our educational structures as to whether they are structures through which peace can flow. Peace education addresses not just what we teach and how we teach it, but also the structures we teach within. Peace is cultivated through relationships and structures, and through our willingness to embody them in how we lead, how we govern, our institutional practices, and how we treat one another. An institution with peace as its mission requires robust mechanisms for accountability and transparency at all levels. It requires the things it teaches about- like democracy and restorative justice- to be present within the institution itself…

Peace is made in every action that we make and, most importantly, in how we treat one another. Mission- and values-driven institutions like ours must be willing to examine ourselves with the same criticality, honesty, courage, and compassion that we ask of our students.

In recent days, given all that has transpired, many people have asked me if I still believe in UPEACE. In short, I do. I tell them that I believe in UPEACE’s mission and the potential role it could play in the world if it lives up to its mission and values. If it truly seeks to embody them in its leadership, in every policy, structure, and accountability mechanism, at every level of the institution, then there is hope for it. Whether UPEACE fulfills its extraordinary mission will depend not on the words contained in its Charter or mission statement, but on the courage of its community to embody those values in its structures, relationships, and daily practice.

If I did not believe this institution was capable of living up to its mission, I would not have written this letter, which I wrote as an expression of practicing what I teach. Peace is a practice - an imperfect one. We are not seeking perfection or purity here. We are seeking integrity. Now is the time to make those values a lived reality.

Thank you for taking this message to heart. I hope it stays with you, and I hope you carry it forward. I wish each of you courage, wisdom, and strength as you continue the important work of upholding the noble mission of this beloved institution.

One of the core practices of my life, which I have learned through yogic and Buddhist paths, is to act with as much ethical integrity as possible, and then let go. All we can do in this life is act in ways that are aligned with our values and release the fruits of our actions. This is one of the great teachings of the Hindu text The Bhagavad Gita, which guided Gandhi’s life and work, and it is also the teaching of the five remembrances in Buddhism. In the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, “My actions are my only true belongings...my actions are the ground upon which I stand.” All I can do is act in the world in alignment with my values, and I trust the path will emerge before me, like the great scene of the invisible bridge in Indiana Jones. It is in this spirit of values alignment and practicing what I teach that I sent that letter.

Hand over my heart, I trust, I believe, that one step at a time, the path will reveal itself.

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The Indiana Jones scene reminds me of a quote from Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, which was close to me at another time in my life, when I was in a great period of transition, the last time I left a toxic workplace (see the story of the banished birthday committee) and stepped into the unknown of a more in(ter)dependent life.

Goethe said:

“Until one is committed, there is always hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising to one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no one could have dreamed would come her way. Whatever you can do or dream you can begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

The thing is, I would have stayed. While for months, maybe two years, I have been questioning how long I could stay, I wanted to believe it could work. I wanted to believe I could last long enough to see what it might be like under different leadership. I wanted it to be what it was on those best days, a dream. The gift of being consumed, digested, and released from the academy, not on my own accord, is that I am now free. I have to commit to something else. I would have continued enduring the toxicity, the invisibilization, the disparagement, and the hostility. Life has given me a moment when I have no choice but to be committed.

I trust. I am here for the magic. I am deeply committed. I have only begun to dream.

On my last day on campus, June 30th, I did the HR things. I brought coffee and snacks and invited people to our offices to say chiaoito.

We returned to the pedestal altar one last time. We made offerings for the gifts of the forest. Much like in the story of the tree altar, the magic I nurtured on campus is now dispersed. It has a life of its own. It is no longer mine to carry there, but elsewhere.

I sit with Karen’s question about liminal space. People keep asking what is to come, and I know deeply that I need to give this phase time. I know that seeds I planted a long time ago are ready to sprout, but I am not sure which ones yet, and I need to wait patiently to see what wants to emerge, and give them the right conditions, which is the life I want to live. I need to rest, replenish, restore, and regenerate. Today, I go to the forest to become Log Girl.

In all of this, I can tell you: I feel alive. I feel grateful. I keep thinking to myself, “I couldn’t feel better,” and then I do, and so I keep going and hold the knowing that I don’t even know what better is yet. I have only begun to taste the possibilities.

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In the spirit of playlists as pedagogy, there is a new playlist brewing over here: the Termination/Liberation playlist! Playlists are portals, and I invite you to meet me in the portal of this incredibly liberating moment. Music is medicine, and this is the soundtrack you can find me dancing to on my porch and belting out across the canyon at the top of my lungs. The one that is on repeat the most is Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten:

The page isn’t blank, though - words are pouring out. I know in this next phase, I want to devote as much time as I can to writing. If you want to support this, please consider becoming a paid subscriber (and mil gracias to those who already have!).

One of my longtime dreams for paid subscribers has been offering Enchantable office hours, in the spirit of liberating my teaching and taking professor life off-campus. Now that I have been liberated from my job, I finally have time to do this! So, paid subscribers, stay tuned :)

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I am largely keeping July and August open - I have existing travel plans, and plans to become Log Girl. But I do have one public engagement booked at the end of July, a conversation with Katherine E. Standefer of The Wild and Holy Moment - I hope you will join us! Here are the details:

The Wild Edge: On Building a New World From Within the Structure of the Old with peace educator, writer, and facilitator Dr. Stephanie Knox Steiner (she/her). Join the live Substack conversation on Monday, July 27 at 12:00pm ET/ 9:00am PT.

I will be fresh from my trip to Spain for the International Institute on Peace Education and will have lots to share from my experience there, as well as time spent regenerating here in the forest. I hope to see you then!

Friends, those are my notes from this liminal space between termination and liberation. Thanks for being here. Log Girl Summer begins now!

With affection, appreciation, love, and infinite care,

Stephanie

1. YES. Thank you, Karen! :)