I was standing in my ½ gutted Airstream over the weekend. The afternoon light was streaming through the gorgeous aluminum-framed windows, and I had a moment of pure vertigo. But it wasn’t from height or space. It was from the in-betweenness of it all. 

The old Airbnb interior is nearly gone. It’s been ripped out, donated, sold, and discarded. Every last throw pillow. Most of the new pieces are all curated and ordered, thank you very much. Cabinets are somewhere in transit, the perfect-size fridge is” preparing to ship,” the rug I spent three hours choosing (three hours! for a rug!) still just pixels on a screen. Meanwhile, I’m rearranging my paint swatches against every surface, watching how the light changes them from promising to wrong and back to maybe…. as if the answer to everything might suddenly appear in the difference between ‘Cloud White’ and ‘Swiss Coffee.’

Right now, it’s just silver curves and possibility. And exposed wiring. And that weird smell that could be mouse or mould, but is probably just “vintage.”

This is exactly where we all are this week. Standing in our half-gutted lives post-September’s intensity, surrounded by the evidence of what we’ve torn out, and waiting for the new pieces to arrive. We’re not the old and not the new yet. We’re just… structural integrity and good bones, hoping we ordered the right stuff.

It’s also National Coffee Day today (of course it is – the universe loves its little jokes about needing stimulation during reconstruction). I’ll be having my usual Americano with a splash of oat milk, but what if, instead of caffeinating our way through the discomfort of the emptiness, we actually stood in our gutted spaces and felt the potential? What if the void isn’t something to rush through but something to appreciate, like that moment in renovation when you can finally see the true shape of the space?

THE WEEK’S ENERGY

We’re in the exhale before the inhale. September’s chaos has done its demolition work by dissolving what needed dissolving, and showing us exactly where the structural damage was. Now we’re in the integration period to sweep up the debris and check the measurements one more time before the new arrives.

There’s a “let’s get serious about this reconstruction” quality to the energy that’s almost comical, given that we’re still processing what we even want to build. It’s like trying to arrange furniture in an empty room. You can plan all you want, but until the actual pieces arrive, you’re just moving air.

The universe is in project manager mode, clipboard in hand, checking every detail of what needs to happen before next week officially starts the rebuild.

Underneath it all runs this deeper intensity of the energy of someone with a sledgehammer who keeps asking, “Are you SURE we’re done with demolition?” It’s not about surface renovation anymore. Something wants to check the foundation, test for structural integrity, and maybe knock out a wall or two while we’re at it. It’s like the universe is basically handing you a dumpster and saying, “Last chance to throw anything in here before we start fresh.”

WHAT IT MIGHT FEEL LIKE

You might find yourself with the distinct sensation of standing in an empty room wondering if you measured right. Not literal measuring (though maybe that too), but that feeling of “did I order the right life? Will these new patterns actually fit in the space I’ve created?”

Then there’s the special purgatory of waiting for deliveries. You know everything is coming, you have tracking numbers for your new life components, but right now you’re just sitting in the empty space, refreshing the delivery status and wondering if you should have gone with a different colour scheme entirely.

You might experience renovation paralysis, suddenly seeing all the possibilities of the empty space and being unable to commit to any of them. September cleared everything out, and now you’re standing in the blank canvas, paralyzed by potential. Do I want a minimalist life? Maximalist? Should I have kept that one thing I threw out? Can I get it back from whoever I gave it to?

As the week progresses, you’ll find yourself suddenly certain about what stays and what goes. It’s like when you’re renovating and you finally stop trying to work around that weird corner and just decide to use it as a feature. Sometimes the “flaw” is what makes it yours.

SOUL PERSPECTIVE

From the soul’s point of view, this week’s emptiness is sacred space. We spend so much time surrounded by our physical, emotional, and psychological stuff that we forget the importance of the empty room. The space between what was and what will be. The moment when anything is still possible because nothing has been decided yet.

The soul knows that this week’s “nothingness” is actually incredibly full of potential and possibility, and that particular pregnant pause that comes right before creation. It’s like standing in a half-gutted Airstream seeing not what it was or what it will be, but what it IS, which is pure potential wrapped in aluminum curves.

This is especially true for relationships right now. The universe is handing us the blueprints and saying, “Okay, how do you want to design your connections this time? What worked in the old model? What absolutely has to go? What would you build if you weren’t trying to work around other people’s weird structural choices?”

The soul also sees the humour in this renovation metaphor. We literally gut our spaces thinking, the problem is the space, when really we’re gutting ourselves, our patterns, and our ways of being. My Airstream isn’t just getting new cabinets. Nope. It’s becoming a completely different expression of possibility. And so are we.

HOW TO BE WITH IT

Stop trying to rush the delivery. I know it’s tempting to expedite shipping on your new life, but this week is about standing in the empty space and really feeling it. What does it want to become? Not what Pinterest says it should be or what was there before, but what does THIS particular emptiness want to be filled with?

When you feel the urge to fill the void with activity (or actual stuff – add-to-cart is real during spiritual renovation), ask yourself, ‘What am I trying not to feel?’ So often, the empty space shows us things we’ve been hiding behind clutter.

Stand in your literal or metaphorical gutted space and just… be there. Feel the potential. Notice what the space wants versus what you think it should have. The space knows better than we do.

If you find yourself paralyzed by possibilities, remember, you can change it later. This isn’t permanent. Think of it as version 2.0, not the final edition. That takes the pressure off having to get it perfect when you don’t even know what perfect looks like yet.

This is your permission slip to throw out anything that doesn’t fit the new vision. Even if it’s perfectly good and even if it was expensive. Heck, even if someone gave it to you. If it doesn’t fit in the new space, it goes. The universe has ordered a dumpster; might as well use it.

YOUR WEEK IN ONE SENTENCE

“This week, I stand in my beautifully gutted life and trust that the right pieces are already in transit.”

MINI PRACTICE FOR READING THE EMPTINESS

Stand in an empty or transitional space. Could be your gutted Airstream, could be an empty room, could be your yard before the sun fully rises. You decide. Stand there for three minutes without trying to imagine what it should become.

Just notice what the space is telling you versus what you’re trying to force. Notice how possibility feels different from planning.

Then write one sentence about what the empty space shared. Not your plans or your fears for it. Just what it showed you about potential.

You’ll have a collection of observations from the void if you do this every day for a week. Read them all together because that’s your blueprint for what wants to be built. Not what should be built. What WANTS to be built.

ANYWAY

The thing about standing in a half gutted Airstream (or life) is that for a moment, you can see everything. The true structure, the actual space, all the real possibilities without all the stuff in the way. This week, we’re all standing in our gutted spaces, tape measures in hand, trying to remember what we ordered and hoping it all fits.

Soon it will be delivery day with new patterns, new connections, and new ways of being, arriving all at once. But this week we stand in the beautiful emptiness, appreciating the space between demolition and reconstruction.

Trust the wait. And trust that you measured right and ordered well, even if you can’t quite remember what you clicked “add to cart” on during your 2 AM September-intensity-induced shopping spree.

After all, the best renovations are the ones where you work with the space, not against it. Even when that space is currently just exposed wiring and possibility.

Jonni

PS There’s a moment in renovation when you’re standing in the space and someone asks to see it and you want to say “no, it’s not ready, it’s just bones and dreams and anxiety right now”? That’s when you need someone who understands that the in-between isn’t empty, it’s just gestating.  UNLIMITED is my favourite of supporting those who are ready to stand in the beautiful mess of becoming. Reply if you’re tired of pretending your life isn’t currently under construction.

PPS Is anyone else finding it hilarious that we’re heading into October’s “fresh start in relationships” energy while our lives look like construction zones? Like the universe is saying “here, design your perfect connections while standing in your emotional debris.” What phase of renovation are you in? Still demolishing, waiting for delivery, or trying to figure out where you put the instructions? Genuinely need to know I’m not the only one living in beautiful chaos right now.