31 12 2008


I feel like the days between Christmas and New Year’s are like getting stuck in a revolving door.  The space between.  Waiting-for-something-to-be-over-with-days. That feeling of “get on with it already”.  It’s all about transition.

Have you even been in a revolving door with people that are trying to squeeze too much into that confined space?  Or people in too much of a hurry?  And the geniuses that get into the space and suddenly forget how to move their feet at all?

When we were still living in Spain and would come back to the States for a visit – be it six weeks or six months – this feeling would start to overtake me when we would get within a week of heading back home. There would be a pulling away.  A no man’s land in my soul.  An impatience.  Like anticipating the pain so much that I’d be dulled to reality and mechanically react.  Just get it over with already!

Going through my iPhoto library yesterday, reviewing the year, was the same way. Some things that happened seemed like they were years ago and others seemed like 48 hours ago. There are some pictures that will be forever dated in my mind with no chance of forgetting exactly when things happened. Even last night as I was falling asleep and I was mentally peeking going through some of those doors, seeing any number of things I’d rather forget.

But I was there.  It was me.  I had, for some reason unbeknownst to me, to add them to my personal arsenal of life experience.  There will be doors this year too.  Ones that I can stop and enter and others that I can waltz by and ignore.  Some that will have wonderful surprises hidden behind them and others that will open to messes I’d rather not deal with.

I was fascinated by the old doors in Spain.  Especially the rustic wooden ones found in many pueblos.  Before we left in 1995,  we stumbled upon a gold mine of an antique dealer in a little mountain village and in our 20′ sea worthy container filled with all our worldly goods, a number of things got tucked away to be transported across the pond.  One of my favorites is a hunk of wood that was part of one of those doors.  It can be opened three ways – the tiniest door to peek out to see if you even wanted to open the door…the middle door would allow things to be passed through without giving full access…and then of course, the door itself.

All the wear and tear of life is on that wood.  How many times was it opened?  Who was welcomed – who was feared?  What good news was shared and how many good-byes were said?

There is a door in front of me this year that I want to stand at and knock gently. Tapping, not pounding.  Giving those hidden behind the time to come and meet me where I am.  I don’t want to startle or frighten.  I want to be a welcomed guest, not hidden from.