As one door closes, another opens. An old saying, yes, and for the most part makes sense. However, I like the idea that, when one door closes, there was already five open.
In the midst of a transition as I take stock of life, I am opening many doors, and with a child-like curiosity, peeking into each, and deciding which path I will take next. Do I keep within the same career, or leap into something different, something more in line with the passions buried deep within, that I have given up trying to fight? Do we stay here or make the move to Alaska, where a good chunk of my being and heart lies upon the shore of Prince William Sound?
The one door I have been peering into the longest, sometimes with disdain, sometimes with the emotion of seeing a long-lost friend, is the one where I am a writer. Seeing myself from a distant, detached, 3rd-person, is both frightening and exhilarating. Is that something I can truly do if I let go of fear and the nagging feelings that there is no audience for me, that these words I write are just words, with no substance, no context, and no meaning?
Through all of the angst and defeat, I never fully closed this door. It was always left with a sliver of light coming out, as a reminder so I would not forget part of myself.