This time last month I was recovering from jet lag. I arrived back from Scotland on the 13th, and I wrote my first blog post a day later. I’ve written every weekday since then. I’ve loved most moments so far, though fighting off the fear of failure each morning hasn’t been a walk in the park.
While in Edinburgh, I spent a few nights at a friend’s beautiful one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old flat. This home tucked away on the second floor of a building hemmed in by cobbled streets, is an imagination junkie’s dream habitat. The windows are gargantuan, and antique shutters cover them in the evenings. Imagine Victorian crown mouldings, original wooden floors and whisky; lots of malty magic by the fireplace.
It all was just so beautiful, but my most favourite feature of the flat were the doors. All the huge, heavy doors! Each night that I stayed, I discovered a new door. I have a terrible sense of direction, and I found myself in an undiscovered closet on more than one occasion.
The flat is not small, and the number of doors into strange nooks and crannies was surprising. When I was expressing my delight to the owner of the flat, she said, “But did you find the door behind the kitchen door? It’s a closet full of antique doors!” This flat is Wonderland, and I was, Alice. Somebody give me the mushroom!
This morning I had a bit of a meltdown. On the way home from dropping off the kids, I started thinking about all the new proverbial doors I’ve opened in my life over the last month. I won’t go into detail about each one, mostly because I want to preserve the appearance of sanity to whoever watches this unfolding blogging drama. I’m not a She-Woman-Midlife-Crisis walking around on two legs. I’m not, I promise. I’m just desperate to be true to myself.
I nervously peeked behind a door that is not supposed to be opened yet; it’s only scheduled to unlock in September. What I saw when I was looking into that space, was super terrifying to me: It appears to be cluttered with sleepless nights, financial struggle, parenting challenges and few other problems I’m not ready for. I panicked.
I mentally began banging on doors that are not for me. I even tried to lock the door I’d peeked into; I tried to change my mind.
Several frantic phone calls and a few google freakouts later, I found myself back in front of the big scary door. I’ve closed it gently for now, but in September I’ll open it wide and take whatever is behind that door. I’m not afraid. Well, I’m a little scared, but I’ve got my big girl panties on, so…
Many doors mean many surprises. On my last day at the Edinburgh flat, I opened a door that led into a bedroom; I didn’t know it was there until that moment. A WHOLE BEDROOM! It was white on white, with high ceilings and a massive mirror. Just think, I would have missed out on seeing that room if I hadn’t opened the strange door at the end of the hall.
Sometimes doors open into cluttered closets. It might take a lot of work to make your way through what’s hidden there— unexpected treasures. Sometimes, doors open into spaces that are perfectly ready for you to rest in; there’s no work, only play behind those doors. Sometimes, doors open into spaces filled with other doors.
The point is to open them, and not be afraid of what you might find.