A Door Cracks Open
“Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing that we see too late the one that is open.” Alexander Graham Bell
I argue that I can’t let it go. “It’s been fifteen years. How do I walk away?”
I do want to give up. This feeling has been true for quite some time, but of late, it has intensified.
It’s just become too unmanageable. My energy is waning. Besides how many more original ideas can I come up to keep things fresh and interesting? I don’t have any viable answers, but that doesn’t stop the questions from coming.
“It’s so great on so many levels.” I’ve said these words as well to anyone who will listen. And I do mean anyone.
A stranger says, “you can see what passion and commitment creates.”
I thank him, but he obviously doesn’t understand. I’m tired. Bone tired.
I want to put my hands on my hips, give him one of those looks that says, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Now listen here. I want out.
But it’s not in my nature to offend. I say nothing.
I often fantasize of winning a lottery or hoping by some twist of fate I will make enough money to give myself permission to leave. Of course, I will ensure everything left behind is in order. I’m nothing if I’m not a person of order. I convince myself that my departure will allow us to flourish. Fresh blood is what is needed.
And yet I can’t loosen my grip. All the work already invested is my excuse again and again. How can you create so much just to see if all topple and fall apart?
If I could just make sure things would be fine I would definitely leave. Happily. But things must continue. Of this, I am certain. And then I wonder, what gives me the right to place expectations on what is to happen after I leave.
I twist and turn in this need-to-maintain-control trap. I hear myself in the arguments I repeat to others. My voice as shrill as it is desperate. “It’s been fifteen years. All the work. I can’t let it fall apart after all that.” I want others to know how difficult it is to leave this cage I’ve built for myself.
This time, in response to my tale of woe, someone says, “Isn’t it great you had those years. Maybe that’s good enough. You know you can stop any time.”
Gee, I didn’t think this was even an option. I think about this over and over and over again. Have been doing so over the last week since I heard these break through words. Maybe that’s good enough?
A door has opened. Not sure I can squeeze through it, but it’s nice to know something has shifted. I can see the wedge for my escape. Or is that daylight I see?
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