I’ve always been observant. A noticer of little things. I’ve also always been very guarded; perceiving the room I stand in, and the world as a whole, through a narrowed squint and a cocked eyebrow. I suppose I was born that way, for better or for worse. I’ve stood in cathedrals with golden frescos adorning the vaulted rafters, in all their chaotic and intricate glory. Yet, the door never quite escapes my peripheral. Not necessarily because I want to leave; but, because a certain comfort exists in knowing that I could. As a child, I was taught to never sleep facing away from a door. It’s bad feng shui. As an adult, there is rarely a space I dare endure without a glaring, red ‘EXIT’ plastered to an arch. Unfortunately, this tendency has caused me to linger in rooms I do not belong in for far too long; and leave the ones I enjoy far too swiftly. 

 

The more I relish where I stand, the closer I stay to the threshold. It’s sickening, really. Attachment comes with uncharted, sometimes quite rough, waters. The Buddha did say that ‘attachment is the root of all suffering.’ If he was sitting here, I’d ask him to what extent running from attachment leads to suffering, though. Maybe he could chew the fat with me for a while. When emotions are not entangling themselves, a room can really be quite relaxing. You don’t have to care where the door is. However, this is no way to live. Connection is a fundamental human experience; and we all, in some way or another, yearn to be seen and cherished. When pesky little emotions tighten their grip on a situation, my ears prick into fight or flight. I’d give you one guess on which of the two my instincts tell me to choose. Perhaps this is because I learned, at a very early age, that those who build a room can walk out of it, without reason, and never return. Or maybe it’s that I’ve outlasted my welcome in shitty rooms to the point of not trusting my own judgement. Either way, I have, far more times than I am willing to admit, raced to the door before anyone else can turn the handle. Without even really knowing if they wanted to. And, thus, cheating myself out of all kinds of joyous opportunities, I’m sure. I’ve been working on this, although it’s a bit of an internal battle. I like to think I’m doing better. Lamentably, knowing why you do something, doesn’t always stop you from actually doing it, does it.

 

To circle back to my comment on those who leave the rooms they’ve built, I think many could understand my sentiment. You learn that doors aren’t theoretical, and that anyone can open them. Just because someone is supposed to stay, or even promises to, doesn’t mean that they will. Therein lies the rub. If those who are presumably a fixed feature can vanish without a trace, then who’s to say those who aren’t won’t? And, of course, if they aren’t, why would I stay around to find out? You’d imagine that leaving hurts less than being left. Not really. It’s a vicious cycle of hurt people hurting people. Someone’s got to drop the Sisyphus-Boulder routine. It will be me. Surely, this manifestation is a need for control wearing a venetian mask of independence. Now, I wouldn’t give up my independence for anything. However, if you’re sitting in the right chair, I’d argue that you don’t have to. There’s a lesson to be learned, in the staying, somewhere between the cushion and the frame. Avoidance is insidious. If you’re not careful, it will consume everything. And what then are you left with? Yourself and a white-hot door knob. Holding onto it for long enough will inevitably burn your hands. It would logically follow that ya ought let it go. 

 

Paying too much mind to the door is a rather somber existence. You cannot wholly inhabit anywhere if you have one eye trained on the exit route. Physical presence does not account for emotional presence. You’ll miss out on all a room might have to offer. You’ve got to let your gaze wander to the rugs, or the paintings, or the stained-glass windows. What if there’s a crystal chandelier? You won’t be able to see it if you don’t tilt your head back and look up. A life spent anxiously chewing the walls of your mouth at the thought of being suffocated, or subsequently left, will leave you nowhere but trapped in a doorway with a hole in your cheek. It is the antithesis of the point, and leads you to exactly where you fear to be. Alone. Leaving isn’t always grand, or even complete. Sometimes, it’s just never quite unpacking your suitcase. If you don’t, how could you ever bask in the walk-in closet? 

 

I guess, the crux of my point is really that if you flee every situation where you might get hurt, you’ll never experience the fullness of love and admiration. There is nothing in life that comes with no risk. Not even the most steadfast, doting people exist without error. The point is not to ignore the exit. But, maybe to recognize its existence, and allow yourself to sit with your back to it. That is truly the bravest thing one can do. Unnecessarily wasting time, and joy, and observance, and ENERGY, on what bad thing might happen, is to dance with the devil. He will eventually rob you of all things you dream of and hold dear. 

 

I learned to locate exits because I was taught that many rooms are temporary, even the important ones;

Just as I was taught to never sleep with my back to the door. 

Now, maybe, I will learn to kick off my shoes

And stay awhile. 

 

Xo, R.