One of the popular sayings I’ve heard not only in 12-step programs, but as general advice from loved ones, is that “when one door closes, another one opens.” I’ve hung plenty of hope on this door theory.
As an impatient recovering alcoholic, I have a natural tendency to yank that hope coat off the door, put it on along with my steel-toed boots, and kick that damn door down. This has not resulted in great success relationship-wise. The outcome has caused me to be banned from many buildings, or find myself in relationship rooms that definitely should have stayed locked and bolted.
The brightest doors are opened through prayer and meditation. But like waiting in the ER on a busy Saturday night, when I think I need attention NOW, I get frustrated by the process.
“Where is my couch?” I asked the Universe a couple weeks ago. There is a discomfort in waiting for doors to open. I want to run down the lonely hallways, knock on every door yelling “TRICK OR TREAT? ANYBODY HOME?!?”
Instead, I have had to build my couch. Right now it’s lumpy, but fairly comfortable. I realize I can’t just sit here, but I can’t run the hallways either. I am dating. Beginning to start friendships that may or may not be the basis of a relationship. I am smart enough to not walk through every open door, but willing to peak through doors ajar even if I find its outward appearance unappealing.
And between the dates, the standing in doorways, I have found my couch.