My Closed Door Policy

Hello from the outside

I've been thinking a lot lately about closed doors.   

We have all encountered closed doors in our lives:  those times when the chain is on, the bridge is drawn, and that thing that we really want is on the other side, out of reach.  Relationships we hoped to have.  Promotions we worked hard for.  Groups we longed to be a part of.  Jobs we thought would be perfect.  For my part, I've tried to pick the locks on a seemingly endless supply of closed doors these past few years, as I've pursued new career paths and relationships, with increasing frustration.  Time and time again, it seems, I get excited about a new opportunity, take a step forward, even get my foot in the door, only to have it slammed shut.

Recently, I had the experience of encountering yet another closed door.  I had been excitedly researching options for going back to school in a particular area of study that I have long thought would be a great fit for me.  I had decided that it was so obviously my path.  And yet, as I tried to find a way to make my dream a reality, I discovered that everywhere I turned I was met with closed doors.  This program is at a school that is too far away.  The one in town won't accept me because I already have a university degree.  This one looks amazing and I can complete it online and...oh, it would cost me my first-born (I'm partial to her).  As I flailed and cursed about yet another door closed in my face, I suddenly had the thought: "Maybe this door is closed for a reason."  

Huh.  I sat still for a few minutes, letting that sink in.  And then, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I still really wanted that thing.  I was still frustrated.  I was no closer to figuring out what I was going to do next to move my career forward.  But I realized that although I may be powerless to open the closed doors, I have the power to change how I think about them and I can change my strategy for dealing with them.  

So I have devised a new approach: My Closed Door Policy.   These are the steps I plan to take the next time I'm left out in the cold.

1)  Feel the Feelings

Allow yourself to get sad, or frustrated, or angry, or all of those emotions at once.  Give yourself some time to feel whatever you feel.  It's tough when there's something you really want and you can't have it, especially when you've worked really hard to batter that door down.  Go ahead and cry and flail and curse.  Throw eggs at the closed door.  Figuratively, not literally, unless it was a relationship you wanted and he or she left you for someone younger, then by all means (although there are plenty of better doors).  It's natural to be upset.  Let it out.

2)  Stomp the Sour Grapes

Go one step further than just being upset.  Think about all the reasons why you didn't really want that thing in the first place.  It could be said that this "sour grapes" approach is not the most emotionally mature and is perhaps moderately delusional, but I think there's something to be said for thinking through all the not-so-great things that would have come along with the prize on the other side of the door, that now you don't have to deal with.  He was really funny and sweet, but now you don't have to spend every Friday night listening to him play in his terrible band.  That job paid well and might have been a good step in your career, but the hour-long commute would have been awful.  You really really liked her, but not so much spending time in her disgusting apartment.  Also, remember that you can't predict the future.  Those grapes looked delicious but I bet they were sour!  They very well could have been.  The fact is that you just don't know that what was on the other side of the door was as great as it seemed.  So this is the only time you'll hear me give this advice: assume the worst.  It would probably have been terrible.  Phew, guys.  Dodged a bullet there.

3) Conduct a Post-Mortem

Hold on a second: DID you really want that thing anyway?  Take some time to consider whether what was on the other side of the door was really the best option for you.  Sometimes it happens that we're so caught up in the pursuit, so busy knocking on a particular door, that we lose sight of the fact that there are all sorts of other doors we could be knocking on.  Think about why you wanted what you wanted, and then consider if what was behind Door #1 was really going to give you that.  The answer may very well be an emphatic YES.  "YES, I really wanted that thing and I still really want it!"  That's completely fair.  So now what?  Now, conduct a post-mortem.  What did you do to try to get it?  Why did it maybe not work? What could you do differently next time?  What other steps could you take to try to get it?  Maybe there's another way in.  But if the answer is "NO, you know what, I don't know what I was thinking, I don't really want that thing"...well advance to go and collect $200.

4) Search for the Silver Linings

Assuming you're not quite ready to advance to go, this step is when we quit our stomping about and focus on the positive.  The fact is that every missed opportunity leaves room for a better one.  So you can't have the thing you wanted?  What might you get instead?  This doesn't even have to be about creating a whole new big dream.  Keep it small: What are some of the positive things about the closed door?  I'll give you some personal examples.  I didn't get the job = I have extra time with my kids.  I didn't win the writing competition = I can work on making that piece even better before it is eventually published, which it obviously will be.  That relationship ended = I have more time to write on my website!  Even if the positive stuff doesn't make you feel all that positive at first, take some time to think about the good little things that might now come, and start to dream up the new big dreams too.  If you like the thought of destiny, maybe consider (as I did) that perhaps those doors are closed because that's not the path you're meant to be on.  Think about whether there may be another, better path for you.

A word of caution, however:  Sometimes a closed door is so difficult to cope with because we made the door THE ANSWER.  We constructed a storyline such as "Once I have this, this will happen" or "I'm supposed to have this thing to make up for the other thing I didn't get" and we overloaded the attainment of that thing on the other side with a whole lot of expectations.  Be cautious, in dreaming up the new big dreams, that you don't carry this process forward.  This step is about being optimistic, but it's important that you don't simply shift all your expectations on to the attainment of the next thing.  For example: This relationship probably didn't work out because he's not the man of my dreams and the next man totally will be and then my life will be perfect!  There are lots of ways in to the perfect life.  One door (one person, one job, one opportunity) is still just one door.  No matter how good that door looks in a three-piece suit.

5) Examine the Evidence

I'm straight up stealing this from my years of cognitive behavioural therapy (the fact that I've had years of therapy despite using this technique should not reflect poorly on the effectiveness of this technique).  SURELY this isn't the first closed door you've encountered.  What happened in the past?  Did you find another way in?  Did you find another door?  Did you cope?  If you're still standing then I'm going to assume a Yes, at least to that last one.  If you take the time to look back on the times when your way down a particular path was blocked, you may find that much of the time, in hindsight, it was really for the best.  Yes, that relationship ended.  But then you met someone new who was better for you.  No, you didn't make the team.  But then you joined that other club and made some of the best friends of your life.  Yes, a couple/dozen/hundred times the doors slammed in your face, but you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and soldiered on.  Just like then, you can get through this now.  And there's a good chance that some day you'll look back on this closed door and thank your lucky stars you never crossed that threshold.

6) Have Faith

This could be faith in God or the Universe or some other form of spiritual power, if that brings you some comfort and helps you get through the tough times when life just isn't going your way.  I'm personally more interested, though, in the faith we place in ourselves and our ability to move forward and to enact change in our own lives.  It can be difficult to have faith.  It's one thing when we have the benefit of hindsight, when a new door is open and we can see why it was a good thing that the other was closed.  It's a lot more challenging when we are still knocking on doors and figuring out a new path.  It's hard to stay patient and optimistic.  But try to have some faith in yourself.  You've handled closed doors before and forged new ways forward. You will get through this and you will create an amazing life.  You can find the keys.  Better yet: you can create your own doorways.

As for me and my most recent closed door?  Having reached the dead-end of that career path, having had that thought that those doors may have been closed for a reason, I stepped back to reflect on what I want in my life.  I thought about other ways I could get there.  And I came across a new path with several optional doors that all seem to be open, at least a crack, a path that I feel even more excited about than the first.  There's still a long way to go and there are still plenty of other doorbells to ring that may go unanswered.  But I'm going to keep the faith, keep my new policy at hand, and keep putting one foot in front of the other, into the open door cracks.  Perhaps, this time, in steel-toed boots.

Letting Love In

Welcome

I've been thinking a lot lately about love.

A few months ago, a friend and I were talking about love, the romantic kind in this instance.  After enduring what I think is my fair share of heartbreak, I explained that I wasn't sure I wanted to take a chance on love again.  I wasn't sure if my little heart could take it.  I was afraid.  

I listed all the reasons why I should hang up my hat and take myself out of the relationship running.  The pain was too much.  The risks were too great.  For me, the risks include plummeting into a depression that I can't climb back out of and I reasoned that, particularly with two little girls who need me, it would be foolish for me to take that risk again.  How could I let someone in who might hurt me?  How could I let someone in who might threaten this good life I've worked so hard to build? 

"But that is a part of love," my friend argued.  "And love is worth it." 

"No," I replied.  "It's too hard." 

And I began to shut down.  I began to close up shop, packing away my hopes for a future with someone by my side, pushing away thoughts of romance and companionship and stuffing down any longing for affection and connection, hoping it would all go away.  I have to protect myself, I thought.  I have to close the borders.

But lately I've been reconsidering this policy.

I've been thinking a lot about my life's experience with love so far, with love of all kinds, and I've realized that I have been surrounded and engulfed and tripping over love - the love of family and friends and boyfriends and neighbours and people who smile as we pass each other on the street.  I've seen love in the eyes of my daughters and felt love in a handshake with a stranger and heard love in the voices of a choir singing love to all the hearts in the room.  Love is in the garbage bin blowing down the street that is retrieved by a neighbour.  Love is in the gluten-sugar-dairy-free dessert my friend went out of her way to make so I wouldn't be left out.  Love is in the joke made by the grocery store clerk as she packs my groceries.  I have let all of this love in and I have been rewarded beyond measure.

But what about the pain that I'm so afraid of?  The pain is there and it has hurt like hell and it has shaken the ground.  But the buildings still stand.  And I've been asking myself: Would I take away all that love to avoid that pain?  Would I take away those months, those years, of happiness so as not to endure the pain that marked its end?

No.  No, of course not.  Not in a million years.

This has been a tough few weeks for a lot of people.  The crisis in Syria and the plight of the refugees who are fleeing their homes.  The suicide bombings and attacks by ISIS in France, Iraq, Saudi Arabia and Lebanon, just to scratch the surface.  More fear and pain than it is possible to comprehend. Closer to home, good friends lost their 11 year old son this week, a beautiful boy and an unimaginable goodbye that should never happen.  It seems to me that lately there has been altogether far too much sadness and heartbreak to go around.  But then, there has also been love.  Communities pulling together to be there for each other.  Strangers offering homes and clothing and warm welcome.  Friends offering condolences and support and warm thoughts.  Would I, as a parent, take away my time with my child if I knew I would have to say goodbye?  Should we miss out on the chance for more love and kindness and beauty in this amazing country of ours on the slim chance that some ugliness might slip through the cracks?

No.  No, of course not. 

With love comes pain.  But with pain comes love.

So I'm choosing to let love in.  Not without caution.  Not without some security checks.  But the borders are now open and love is now welcome.  And as for the risks?  I'm trusting that I can handle them, as I have before.  The buildings still stand.  I'm trusting that we as a country can handle them too, as we have before.  The buildings still stand, built on immigrant shoulders, held up by immigrant hands.

Let's let love in.  Let's let love flood in. 

Because love is worth it.

Point B

Hope, July 22nd 2012

You're probably not going to believe this.

I didn't really believe it and I was there.

Two years ago yesterday, July 21st 2012, my husband and I came home from a dinner out to celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary, which was to be the following day.  But we weren't in a particularly celebratory mood.  I could tell that something was wrong and I felt a conversation coming.  I went to sit out on the back patio to collect my thoughts, and prepare for what I thought would be one of our usual "clear the air" type talks in which issues were voiced and put to bed.  I thought we'd talk and go back to our regular scheduled programming.  (The fact that this type of talk was a "usual" thing should probably have been a sign that things weren't right, but the universe was about to give me another.)

As I sat there on what was a gorgeous summer's evening, I looked up at the clouds and I noticed a cloud in the shape of a smiley face.  A perfectly round smiling face.  And, I kid you not, before my eyes I watched the smile turn into a frown.  And I said, out loud, "Well that's a bad omen."

And not 45 seconds later, my husband came outside and told me our marriage was over.

This is not a post about airing dirty laundry.  There is no dirty laundry to be aired.  We built that marriage together and we were mutually responsible for letting it fall into disrepair.  This is a post about the distance from there to here.  About how much things can change in a single moment.  And how much things can change in two years.

I was devastated.  In hindsight, I can see all sorts of signs that things were going from bad to worse, but the girl that I was in that moment did not see it coming.  And in that single moment my entire world changed.  I hadn't only lost a husband and the future that I thought we were going to have together ("only", as if that wasn't enough on its own).  I was a stay-at-home mum and I loved it (most days) and the plan had been for that to continue indefinitely, as long as it were financially possible.  It was all I had ever known in my heart that I wanted, to be a stay-at-home mum, and in that moment I suddenly had to say goodbye to that dream, say goodbye to that time with my kids.  I had to find work.  I had to find a daycare for my kids and the thought of a stranger taking my place, taking my time with the kids, was heart-wrenching.  I had to find a place to live because I couldn't fathom living with a ghost in the house we had shared for 11 years.  

I've had some pretty low moments in my life but this was the lowest.  Needless to say, I couldn't sleep that night.  And finally at 5 a.m. I'd had enough.  I had to get out of the house.

I had, a few months prior, created a list of goals, 101 things that I had hoped to accomplish in 1001 days, and one of those things was to watch the sun rise.  So I decided that there was no time like the present, and I grabbed my camera and the car keys and left.

I drove around for awhile, uncertain of where the best vantage point might be for my task.  My mind was still swimming but I had a momentary purpose that pulled me through some of the waves of grief and agony, enough to operate the car, anyway, and get me from point A to point B.  I went through the drive-thru and bought a tea, like I was a normal person and it was a normal day.  I pulled into the marina next to the penitentiary, and parked my car.

It was a beautiful morning, which seemed a little like an affront to my sorrow.  The world was moving on without me.  It was just another day, to the world.  The sun began to rise and it shone down on the day not knowing that it was my wedding anniversary and I was bawling in a parking lot.  I eventually got out of the car, camera in hand.  

I took a few deep breaths.  The lake was calm and the sun was painting the sky as it rose.  I started snapping photos.  Sometimes the beauty around you is so astounding that no amount of grief can hold it at bay.  And then it happened.  

A flock of birds flew right over my head and off to my left, above the penitentiary.  As I watched them fly off into the sun-drenched clouds, a breathtaking sight, I was absolutely in awe.  And in that moment, the moment you see in the photo above, I felt some hope.  I knew in my heart that this was a sign that things would be okay.  Even in my grief, I could see that this was, indeed, the dawn of a new day (and the comic metaphor of the birds flying free over the institution was not lost on me either).  

So much can change in a moment.

And so much can change in two years.  Despite this gift of hope from the universe, on that day in the marina and in the days and weeks to follow, I couldn't imagine what my future would hold and how I would feel anything but pain ever again.  I couldn't see how I could get to point B.  I couldn't even picture what would be there.  But I had purpose to pull me through the waves of grief - two sweet, giggly purposes in fact - enough to get me in the driver's seat and my hands on the steering wheel even though the destination was unclear.

I found a job.  I found a daycare for my girls.  I found a new home.  I found small amounts of strength and courage and gathered them up.  I found love waiting for me in the arms and words of my friends and family.  And I found a way forward.

I have not, by any means, completed the journey.  I am not, by any means, living my ideal life.  But I have reached a Point B.  I am no longer in that pain.  The waves have calmed.  The future I couldn't picture came, regardless, and I'm still standing.  And in the last month or so, I have felt the flip of a switch.  There you go, I felt the universe say, you're no longer in survival mode.  Now, go build your life.

I don't really believe it, and I am here.