Today I stood in front of the door,
that glassed door with engraved letters which makes me wonder if they are meant to save me or just drag me back to the whole where I came from. I was just passing by. It wasn’t the first time I passed nearby, oblivious, so today I randomly searched for its entrance and there was none. Then, in my last errand of the day, it just seemed to jump at me front my right and fill my gaze with questions.
At first I couldn’t stop walking, like its own existence scared me away so I kept going until I reached a curb in the sidewalk and stopped to catch my breath. What should I do? – I thought – What’s the best decision?
Never before a door meant so much to me. No – that statement is completely wrong. Doors always meant a lot to me and if I try to look back on my life I easily remember several times when a door stood between me and my inner freedom. When the person behind those closed doors scared me to the point I felt my guts twitch with nausea and the most agonizing anxiety. Still, there’s not a single door I didn’t have the guts to cross yet.
But today, I couldn’t open that one.
Maybe because some doors take time. Or maybe because I had just come from crossing through one of those scary doors. But writing about it just made me think that the real reason I didn’t overcame two fears today instead of one is because I’m good at crossing doors exactly because I see them as challenges and because I tend to believe all are good. I see it as ‘things that I must do to get what I want’ and ‘things I must do to say to myself that I did everything in my power to get what I want’. Maybe this is where I’ve been wrong, because not all doors should be crossed and challenges aren’t all won the same way.
After I thought about it, standing alone behind the corner of a building, a passerby looked me with curiosity and I avoided his glare snapping my head to the right. That’s when I saw that I was standing beside a line of garbage containers and felt disgusted. I have this stupid habit of accrediting everything with a symbolic twist – or maybe it’s just engraved on my creative writer’s bones, everything must be a hook. So there I was, standing beside garbage and feeling my armpits sweaty from the rushing around in daily errands that I couldn’t stop my brain from connecting all the dots to a sharp conclusion: I am trash.
I thought, I am feeling like crap because I’m crap and I must do something about it instead of delaying this quest for… nothing !
I turned on my heels, headed to the door and grabbed the handle knowing it wouldn’t open. The intercom was at my right with one single big-round button. Looking at it made me question it all again. And so I did, without losing hold of the handle I asked myself if I should take a step I was probably never going to be sure of. I asked myself if I wanted to let someone else in or if that would be giving up altogether; if that person was going to lead me in the right path, nice and easy, or if it’d putt too much faith on the hands of others when I should be the one leading all facets of my own life.
At the end I walked away. I didn’t know why exactly, I just knew I needed more time to think, that this time – for the first time in my life – I wouldn’t open another one of those doors lightly. I had to think it through; I had to be sure that this was the right decision for me, that I even needed a door… when I’ve closed all the ones I’ve opened before.
I’m the kind of person that’s always been eager to open new doors. I’m the kind of person that takes on a challenge like nothing bad could come from it, nothing bad enough that could possibly overlap the good – the potential behind a closed door. But the thing is, potential is nothing but someone else’s blank page with my signature on it. The thing is, as I’m so nifty to open doors I’m also very quick to close them the minute I find they’re not that great – no second chances.
There’s a lot to be said about closed doors. Some people fear them, others like me are called courageous, but am I really? Closed doors are mysterious and also dangerous, closed doors have the power to draw you in because while they are locked you close your eyelids to maze inside your dreams and wistful thinking. You see, the door is still closed when you ponder on open it, so the only assurance you can possibly grasp comes from your own imagination. Without it, the door stops being so appealing to remain only a child’s game. But even children know when to ring the bell and run away.
By the time you become an adult someone has answered that call and your heavy baggage has outgrown your imagination, which makes it much harder for you to believe that strangers will not affect your life.