The Door I Never Close

Someone asked me a question recently:

"What doors are you keeping open that you'll never walk through? What's stopping you from closing them?"

It's the kind of question that should take a while to answer.

Mine didn't.

I knew the answer almost immediately.

There's one door that's been cracked open for as long as I can remember. It's the one that leads to doing something with my writing...or maybe my humor...or maybe both. Whatever is behind that door has occupied space in the back of my mind for years.

I think I leave it open because it's my hypothetical escape hatch. It's the place I go when I wonder if life could be something more than collecting paychecks, paying bills, and convincing myself this is all there is. Behind that door is uncertainty, but it's also possibility. Sometimes possibility is enough. Sometimes it's enough to keep me from believing this is all there is.

So why don't I close it?

Hope.

As irrational as it might be, I still hope that one day I'll have the courage to stick one foot through that damn doorway and find out whether I'm actually capable of building something of my own instead of spending my life helping build someone else's.

I also hope that one day I'll finally believe something I've spent years arguing against:

That I'm enough.

That I'm smart enough.

Funny enough.

Good enough.

Because if I'm honest, the biggest obstacle between me and that door has never been opportunity.

It's been me.

The door also represents something bigger than writing. It represents reinvention. The chance to build a life that feels a little more like my own. Not because my current life is bad, because it isn't. But because I know it could be better if I could just get out of my own way.

And finally...

I don't close that door because I like knowing it's still there.

Every year that passes makes it a little less likely I'll ever walk through it, but not impossible. That tiny sliver of possibility has carried me through some incredibly difficult days. Maybe it's unrealistic. Maybe it's naïve.

I don't really care.

Some people survive because they have certainty.

I've survived because I have hope.

And until hope leaves me first, I don't think I'll ever be the one to close that door.

I'm sure there are other doors I've left open over the years. But none of them have followed me as faithfully as this one.