What am I afraid to acknowledge about where am right now?
I sit at the poolside. The silence is at the same time quiet and loud. Externally quiet, just the sound of water gently trickling down somewhere, the cicadas softly chirping, a sudden surprised quack by a duck in the fields behind. Peaceful, blissful, relaxing. But inside my head, it’s another story altogether. A path opens up, I decide to walk down. Suddenly a door slams shut. My mind shouts, “Not that way!”
What is it that the door is hiding? What am I so scared of? Who is waiting behind that door? Who is it I don’t want to meet.?
There is a door marked 1980
That is a safe door. I open it and walk in. I find my fifteen year old self. Mostly quiet and self contained, introverted but happily unaware of the vagaries of life, the flush of first love, words flowing effortlessly onto my page, looking my best. I wish I could remain here forever, but a hand gently ushers me out and the door shuts with a soft snap.
I find myself outside a door marked 2036. I push it open. It’s creaky, slightly as if unused to being used. On the other side, I meet versions of myself as yet unformed, flowing misty versions that take whatever shape I care to give them. I hold my breath in apprehension. What if I make a wrong choice? Take or more importantly not take a decision that could make my life better? And just like that a gust of wind pulls me out of the future and slams me against the door marked 2026.
I hesitate to open that door. Scared of what it will tell me. I somehow know what I will find – an obese 62 year old – too lazy to exercise – unhealthy, self centered. But then I realise something that started me out of this line of thinking.
It is very comfortable painting myself in a bad light because if I accept the fact that I am good I will have no excuse to hide away from life and people.
I was complaining to my therapist about the fact that my mom hates me, and she said, “You’re just looking at the black dot on an otherwise white page. The whole space is all the other people who love you, your daughters, your in-laws, your friends, your students, even animals. You bring joy into the room just by being there. You nurture people. You are loved.”
And a voice in my head whispers, “Sure, you mess up a lot, but you own your mistakes, you love fully and deeply, even if you get hurt. You are growing into a better you consciously every day. So stop beating yourself up and start loving yourself.”
Perhaps the door marked 2026 is not one I need to be afraid of after all. Perhaps I don’t need to go back to 1980 or rush towards 2036. Perhaps I need to open the door to the person I am today, with all her flaws, fears, possibilities and capacity to love.
For now, that is courage enough.