I went through a door today. Well, I almost went through a door. My brain saw a door and literally, without thinking, I went through. Almost. That’s what you do with doors. You see a door and you go through the door, unless it is stuck. It was one of those embarrassing moments that usually happen when you’re running into a store and push on a door with a huge lettered sign that says pull. Like a bird mistaking the reflection of the trees in the window for trees I went crashing into the door. And yes, there was an audience, there’s always an audience. Like the tiny bird I just stood there looking at the door. It was a door. Doors open. You go through doors. You go in doors. You go out of doors. Maybe it was the concussion that made me daft but this really bugged me.
The long strong arm from a production worker who, with one motionless swoop, opened the door cleared my daftness. As I exited the room I warned those I met to be on the alert for the infamous door. They thanked me. Unfortunately I caught a glance of them looking back as the door opened with grace and beauty. Harumfph. I was so not pleased now.
“What do you see when you write?” was the innocent but teasing question asked of me not long ago. I knew the answer. I had visualized it day after day for more decades than I care to count. “Bread crumbs” was my reply. Writing is my way of leaving bread crumbs for those who come down the path after me. Writing was my prayer, my bread crumbs that would hopefully leave a trail for others. Bread crumbs to warn of danger. Bread crumbs to encourage others to not give up there was water just around the bend. Bread crumbs to let them know they were not alone that others had walked this path and were not far away. My words were bread crumbs.
Tonight I see a different image. My words are no longer bread crumbs. My words are ripples, little swells in the ocean of life. A water skier can use them to gain speed. A child floating may giggle as the swell tickles its way underneath the raft. Another boat may follow the current left by the swell. A renegade beach ball may be pulled from the shore by the swells. The course they take, the path and current they travel are their own. Our ripples and swells may crash against each other and merge into yet an even bigger ripple and swell. There will also be times when my words, the ripples and swells will lie still or imperceptible beneath the surface. That is ok for that is what swells and ripples do.
Perhaps it is a concussion but I am left with one final image-why would I leave bread crumbs to a door that I think is stuck? No, I think my words shall be ripples and swells. I pray they will tease, delight, carry and hasten the journey of others or give them reason to pause and just float. Everyone’s path or current will be different than mine, for the path is just that it is every one’s, not mine. And with that, I shall go check out concussions on Web MD and bask in the swells of others. That’s what ripples and swells do. I’ll save the bread crumbs for our lunch on the beach.