A Door That Opens

Being a writer, I can tell you there aren’t many doors open for us. I can’t tell you this out of experience; it’s just something I’ve heard. I guess it doesn’t give me the right to say anything. I know for a door to open, you must turn the knob. Something I have never done, probably due to my constant nagging fear of having it slammed in my face. Maybe, I should forget the door, and climb in through a window.

I’m not sure of any door that opens remains open. Maybe, when that door does open, having the courage to walk through is more important than anything else. Sometimes, I’m afraid that my opportunity has already knocked, but I didn’t hear it. Not for lack of listening, but because I am too wrapped up in my own fear. Fear, I hate to say, has ruined more opportunities in my life than anything else.

Courage is something I do not possess. Courage, I feel, is what you must have to try to open every door you come across. I suppose there are some doors that should stay closed. In my opinion, all doors involving the past should most definitely remain closed. However, they don’t always do so, do they?

The door to my past, unfortunately, opens more than it should. This is my fault; my reluctance to open a door that might push me forward is why my past is so very much in the present.

Getting back to the subject of fear, it seems to be an emerging theme in my writing. My inability to live in the world where everyone else seems to thrive, it’s not just an emerging theme in my writing; it’s also a reoccurring problem in my life.

I wonder how many chances one gets to walk through the long corridor to get to the door to begin their life. I want so many things in my life: a husband, a career, kids, and a chance to be happy. I sometimes think you’re only allowed one of those things. Maybe, to want all of them is an impossibility for most people.

It would also help to know where these doors are located. Seeing as the only door I know is the one that leads back to a life not lived. I wish someone would point the way to one of these doors so that I could escape through it.

However, I feel as though, if I, at long last, found one of these doors, it won’t open. My life has me chained to days of cleaning and taking care of my grandmother. My mother has said, on more than one occasion, that she would never keep me from living my life. I don’t believe she meant it. I think the only reason she said it is because she does not believe I will ever start living my life.

I have come to resent everyone in my life for those reasons. If I were to let the dishes pile up because I chose to join the land of the living, it would be met with anger and resentment from my family.

Sometimes, I think the doors I didn’t explore would have led to a life worth living. I suppose I can’t blame my family for my shortcomings.

I tend to blame everyone else for my problems, which is why I expect everyone else to fix them.

Maybe, the door to my past is open for a reason. Maybe, I’m supposed to deal with something before I can move forward.

I sometimes feel like I’m wandering through a dark fog filled forest without a compass. The door leading out of the woods hidden by the dark fog and foreboding trees.

Dreaming is the only thing that keeps me going. Even when all hope is abandoned, I can still dream of the things I want but may never get.

I was watching a movie the other day, “Mixed Nuts.” A line that Catherine, played by Rita Wilson, went, “All good things come to those who wait.” She then said, “I’ve been saying things like that so long. They just pop out of my mouth, but the truth is that nothing comes to those who wait.” I thought about it a great deal. I realize that’s what I’ve been doing my entire life, waiting. No door will wait forever for me to walk through, out of the fog and into a hopeful, sunny future.

I sometimes wish I had a master key to all the doors in the world. Until that time, I am stuck with a future of picking locks.

Photo by Runnyrem on Unsplash
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