“You leave your door wide open; anything, anyone, can walk right through.”
Fitting, I suppose, as I’ve been kicking down doors my entire life. And leaving them ajar afterwards. I have been previously unburdened by my lack of forethought, concern, or restraint. I just kick it down or throw it wide—an indiscriminate invitation to whatever randomness is in position to capitalize on my behaviour.
When the hour of life moves toward change, or ticks toward the deadline of times that need changing, my internal nattering intensifies to a claustrophobic howl. Certain emotional responses appear to be connected to foot and hand; the desire to air everything out, to open it up and see what is hiding inside becomes irresistible.
Just blow it open, all of it, all at once, suppress nothing, tuck nothing under the bed. No closet or shelf or deep dark corner is safe.
Anxiety, frustration, exhaustion, uncertainty, determination, ambition… Impatience? Impatience. Laziness? Yes, possibly laziness. Vengeance? That emotion is, uncomfortably, right in my ‘wheelhouse’. Anger too, especially when I catch myself writing that something is ‘right in my wheelhouse…’
The quality of my intentions influences what comes through those doors. When they are good it’s a Hail Mary thank-you party. When shit goes sideways I must suspect myself not of provoking the difficulties concomitant with change but with immature and likely irrational feelings that misshaped events to come, the ones percolating on the other side of a locked door that I have just finished breaching.
I ran blindly in the same direction until I ran directly into the wall that I refused to see coming. I banged both heart and head against solid objects until I finally beat it into myself that the last thing I needed was to do more.
What I needed to do was nothing—nothing but sit down and be quiet and reevaluate the thrust of my actions. Once I stop breaking things and/or crying that is. I’m not proud of this emotional whiplash and have been struggling most of my life to overcome the urge to Hulk Smash my way out of hurt and frustration.
(“Use your words” is all well and good except when my word don’t want to be used, when they just want to be loved for exactly who they are.)
And I’m finally getting somewhere, praise Jesus.
Or don’t—that’s really up to you. And your friends. And the experiences you endured in childhood, or didn’t. But I digress…
With drive and curiosity comes the burden of responsibility. Emotional states influence not only which doors get cracked but which doors are given world enough and time to open of their own accord, in the season of their choosing.
The last thing that came through an unripened, unready door was a lesson in compassion. (Which is, confusingly, an argument in favour of random kick-downs, rather than against). Terse words and tactical aggression can become deterrents when applied out of nothing but habit.
There is a power in standing still and focusing on what is before me, rather than exclusively referencing the private map scaled and plotted entirely by my own compass.
Now I just have to put one foot in front of the other–instead of through a closed door…