I want to walk through that door- the one I’ve been waiting three years to open, leaving behind the everyday responsibilities of parenting, driving, grocery shopping… pleasing.
Lying in bed, tears spilling on and off the night my daughter left for college, the door seems to open. What is it with tears and courage? In my life they seem to be linked- shedding the past like sweating out a flu, wondering if this is the end. But in that sweat I find the deepest solace, a connection to a voice that says “Go on, you can do it! Pull your legs out of the mud back there and walk through this door.” Looking through the door, the path over there seems relatively smooth. And there’s this bright light…Bright light? C’mon, I’m not dying! I’m living, finally weightless, free of the pressures of marriage and children.
Those pressures, known quantities placing a comforting firewall around my life for twenty years, slip south- shake off- lift- alighting in every direction. I’m walking through that door, light or no light, mud or no mud. Surely, I’ll step in a puddle or two. But just like walking through the irrigating vineyards as a child, I’m going to feel the cool water up to my ankles, squish my toes in the mud a little, and then keep on walkin’ before I sink too deep!
Enough of this, I’m in a hurry. There’s a whole life ahead of me, and I want to let it in.