10/21/2026: Open or Closed?
I’ve been thinking a lot about matters of the heart lately, the two extremes on that vast spectrum of feelings, and where I fall between the two. It seems that the matter is not an open-and-shut case, that it varies vastly and often for each of us over the course of our lives.
If we close ourselves off and raise the walls around us, we suffer alone, but if we give ourselves too freely, we sometimes end up hurt by those we let in. It can be a win-win, a win-lose, or a lose-lose on either end, and we’ve probably found ourselves on opposite ends countless times, once we’ve lived, grown, and learned a little more about the world. But if we’re lucky enough to find the middle ground—and if we’re able to find our way back to it when we lose sight of it—we might stumble onto something rare and rewarding.
Everyone has their reasons for protecting themselves, for barreling forward with passionate and reckless abandon. All it takes is a meaningful event or a catastrophe of a meeting to make us open or close that door to the most vulnerable part of ourselves, the thing that gives us life and makes us who we are; all it takes is a beautiful moment or a whirlwind of an experience to make us do it—or don’t—all over again. It’s a cycle we can’t get out of; it’s part of the beauty and the curse of being alive.
We can be so stubborn to the point of never living, and we can be so free-spirited to the point of living too much and too fast. We argue our case to those who have opened the door and lived to regret it, and they defend their case for keeping it closed until the end of time. We don’t understand until it happens to us, not really. And whether we choose to bar our once-open door in heartbroken defeat or keep the door cracked while being a little more cautious next time is up to us. Maybe it isn’t even about opened or closed doors at the end of the day. Perhaps these barriers are just normal gateways that revolve on a natural cycle unique to us throughout our lives. But what about windows? Do we all at least have a way of seeing outside when the locks are turned and when we feel uncertain? Or are the curtains drawn, the dusty latches cemented in place from a lifetime of disuse?
Maybe the windows and doors to the soul are like the passing seasons. In the spring, we let the breeze in through the screen door as the birds sing and the world blooms anew. On summer nights, we sit outside and stargaze as the crickets serenade our evening reverie. In the fall, we bundle up but leave a small crack in the window so we can breathe in that crisp air while we watch the beautiful dying leaves dance. And in the winter, we close everything to the bitter elements outside as we wait out the season of darkness, beside a roaring hearth, where we listen to the wind howl as it tries to find its way in.
Maybe we cycle through these seasons at a faster or slower rate of speed than nature does. Maybe certain people represent different times of year. Maybe some of us stay in a perpetual state of spring while the rest of us suffer through a long and endless winter. Maybe we go through all this together or alone.
But still the questions remain: Will we open the doors and windows to our hearts? Will we keep them slightly ajar? Will we keep them closed entirely?