Doors

Doors. I have been stuck on this blog post idea for about three weeks. I have the cutest door listings waiting in the wings, but I just can’t chisel out the idea from my creative mind. The idea seems to be lodged behind a story of locking myself behind the bathroom door when I was in kindergarten and standing at the thresholds of all the doors I have ever come upon. There’s no shred of intrigue to either idea. I locked myself behind a door and I have  indecisively stood at the doors of life. What more can I say?

I was afraid to crawl out from under the bathroom door because it was a huge, white, empty bathroom with a long line of steel grey bathroom doors which went on forever. Something scary lurked behind each door, waiting, only for me. I hated going in there by myself. I hurried so I could leave with the other kids. Unfortunately, that particular day, I was slower than usual and got left behind. Then, to my little kid horror, I couldn’t get the door unlocked. Fear gripped my five year old heart as I stood paralyzed in the silence staring at the silver lock. I yelled for help.

The truth of the matter was that I could crawl out but then I would be standing alone in the silence of the bathroom and that frightened me more than what lurked behind each door. I didn’t even think that what lurked behind each door could actually slither from stall to stall until it reached me. No, the silence terrified me more.

Help did come in the form of a teacher or a child, I can’t remember who, but I was no longer facing the silence alone. I think my rescuer told me I could crawl out because I remember feeling oddly stupid, but, it was better than feeling terrified of the silence.

Silence of the unknown. I wonder if that fear of the silent unknown has followed me through the years? Each locked door has held it’s own silence of the unknown. And since I didn’t rescue myself, do I unknowingly expect someone to rescue me at each new door?

I had to stop writing this blog last night to ponder the question of whether I expect someone to rescue me at each new door.  My answer is no. I don’t go through many doors to find out what is on the other side. I don’t go out and make opportunities to open new doors. Well, I knew that at the beginning of this blog. Nothing earth cracking here.

Maybe I need to jump to a deeper level in my mind. One minute pause. Nope, no depth here. I am feeling sad, boo hoo. I am at the end of this blog without any new thoughts on my closed door life.

Although, it did occur to me this morning, while I was getting dressed, that I could do a door series. I could walk through a new door each day and write what happened on the other side of the door. But, then I thought, which doors would those be? Restaurants? Stores? Church? Psychiatrist? Doors to my sibling’s homes? The proverbial doors?

I could call the series The Door Explorer. Yes,  I know, it sounds like Dora the Explorer.

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