What do we mean by the edge?

Welcome back to The Relational Edge—a space of becoming.

In the first blog post, we explored what it means to turn our attention to the relational—the space between us.

Now, let’s turn to the second part of the phrase: the edge.

In ecology, the edge is known as an ecotone. It is a place where two ecosystems meet. Where a forest meets a field. Where mangroves meet the ocean. This kind of edge is a threshold, where connection and transition happen. A fertile, dynamic space where diversity thrives and new life emerges. Biologists have long observed that ecotones hold more species and more energy. There is interdependence in this space. Life flourishes here because of difference.

What if the same is true in human relationships?

We often experience spaces between our identities, our perspectives, our cultures, and our ways of being in the world with tension or uncertainty. But what if we also saw them as spaces rich with possibility? This is one way we talk about the edge—where we encounter something or someone different than ourselves.

The edge can also be a space of disruption, where patterned ways of relating begin to unravel, and something new becomes possible. It’s where we bring curiosity to the uncertainty, or soften our grip on certainty just long enough to allow something new to emerge.

And the edge is also where we are stretched—where we experience an opportunity to grow and transform.

Conversations at the Edge

In exploring this idea, I find myself in conversation with three wonderful thinkers—ecologist Robin Wall Kimmerer, dialogic scholar Sheila McNamee, and theologian, educator, and civil rights leader Howard Thurman.

Each brings wisdom about what it means to live in the edge. They offer diverse perspectives on how we come together across difference—with others and with the natural world.

Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us that in nature, the edge is the place of greatest biodiversity. It’s where plants and creatures from both worlds meet in reciprocity. She describes these ecotones as rich with life. Where every being must listen, adapt, and respond to difference.

In her spirit, we might say: The soil at the edge is nourished by difference, fed by mutuality.

Her teachings invite us to see the edge not as separation, but as a space of shared becoming. A zone where relational life pulses more vividly.

Sheila McNamee extends this idea into our human conversations and communities. She challenges us to see difference as a resource, not as a problem to be resolved. She reflects that much of our training tells us to smooth over disagreement, to reach consensus. But instead, she encourages us to stay with it.

She makes me think about the edge as an encounter where our creativity lives—where new possibilities might emerge. Rather than collapsing difference into sameness, the edge invites us into multiplicity, dialogue, and co-creation. At the edge, we are no longer just individuals with fixed ideas co-existing—we are participants in an unfolding conversation.

Howard Thurman called us to “look well to the growing edge.” He wrote of the cycles of dying and becoming—how “all around us, worlds are dying and new worlds are being born.”

For Thurman, the edge was spiritual. A call to live inside the tension of difference, to elevate our common humanity, and to participate in the transformation that only becomes possible when we stay present to the threshold.

So, What Becomes Possible at the Edge?

The edge is a place of paradox.

It’s where differences rub up against one another. In doing so, something entirely new can be born.

It’s where we can learn to listen deeply, hold tension, and let go of certainty. The edge invites us not to retreat or resolve, but to relate differently.

And it’s also where, in the moments that stretch us the most—when we face our greatest challenges—we grow and transform.

And perhaps, as Robin suggests, what grows at the edge depends on the soil beneath it. Some might call that soil love. Others might call it care, kinship, or mutuality. Whatever we call it, we’ll explore it more next time. That soil matters because it’s what nourishes something new to take root.

Try This

Next time you find yourself in a moment of tension, difference, or uncertainty—pause.

• What if this isn’t something to fix?

• What if this is an edge—a place where something new could emerge?

• Can you soften, rather than resist?

• Can you stay, rather than retreat?

Notice what becomes possible when you shift your attention—not just to what’s happening, but to the energy in the space between you.

This is the relational edge.