What’s in your current emoji rotation?
We all know how it goes: you give into a mild inclination to spice up a text and soon these little images overtake punctuation. Suddenly you’ve replaced periods with the space invader emoji, question marks with the confused shrug guy. I’m not a heavy emoji user, but I do have my favorites. Recently, I’ve started employing the silver antique key. I figured it conveyed importance: if you give someone a key in a relationship, it is understood that you have reached a new level of intimacy. You are allowed to enter without a formal welcome. Fun Fact: Chris was the first person to give me a key on purpose. All the other times I’d been pointed to the whereabouts of a hidden spare and I’d dutifully turn over plant pots, until finally taking matters into my own hands and getting a set duplicated. Romantic? I think not.
Yesterday I found myself at Home Depot, watching a man slide shiny metal bars into a loud box, producing many sets of our new house keys. (How many? Too many.) During this noisy meditation I realized I’m in my key era. I’ve always had a problem opening things. Usually I’ll proclaim something broken or stuck and decide to move on, charting an Option B in which I take the long way around or completely abandon whatever it is I was trying to access. While I’m slinking through my mental labyrinth, someone will come along and try to do whatever I was doing but with a bit more force. Instantly the thing will open and I’ll stare amazed at what a little more assurance, effort or confidence will do.
I’m too gentle with things, especially when I don’t perceive them as mine.
Last month in London, we had to retrieve the keys for our airbnb from a hairdresser. Our host’s cryptic communication style draped the entire thing in a veil of mystique. The salon was a block away, but instantly I felt we had embarked on a quest. Who would come to greet us at the “hair” “salon”? Would they know we were coming? What questions would deliver us the token that would grant us entry into the world of Notting Hill?
The salon was quite cozy, sun streamed through a large side window and the hairdressers squinted at me as I walked in. My presence was known, but no one made a move towards me so I stared at my shoes. Eventually a girl with a high ponytail bounced up to the front desk. This was my sphinx, the guardian at the gates of this new era.
I said, hi I’m here to pick up keys for an airbnb, it’s under Ripley.
She nodded, saying oh yeah Alex left them.
Apparently I had answered the riddle correctly, as she handed me a pair of unattached keys wrapped in a scrap of lined paper. The small parcel had been elaborately wound up in clear tape, until it was almost impossible to pry apart. I was thrilled. I had achieved the first step of the journey.
We made our way through the bustling portobello market, dragging our suitcases over uneven cobblestones and zigzagging through shoppers. The unit number hadn’t been shared with us, so when we found the building we were dismayed to see there was clearly an upstairs and a downstairs. I assumed it was the upstairs, so I climbed the steps and fit the first key into the lock. The handle didn’t budge. I tried the other key, but no luck. I then made Chris shimmy through the gate of the downstairs unit and try that door. It didn’t feel right, but we couldn’t think of any other option.
He struck out, so we stood on the street, bleary-eyed, wondering if we should return to the salon and ask for more information. Had we failed some part of the quiz? Were we given fake keys? Where did our destiny lie? Finally Chris broke my inner monologue of desperation, saying I’ll just try upstairs one more time. And right away, the first key opened the building. We were in. Our hero arc was surely touching down on the other side, where the grass is always greener.
I laughed and laughed, once again fooled by my own tender touch. I mumbled something about this always happening, too relieved to annunciate. We maneuvered our suitcases down a long skinny hallway to a scuffed up door. It seemed there must be another unit above us, but we figured we had to try the most obvious option. I stuck the key in, confident that this was my time to overcome this obstacle.
But it wasn’t to be. I turned it every which way, pushing and pulling on the knob. Unfazed by this rousing performance, Chris took the key and once again opened the door without a hitch.
If he hadn’t been there, would I have ever gotten into the flat? What would have become of me, roaming the charming streets of Notting Hill? Perhaps I would have become the main character in a romantic comedy, but most likely I would have stayed at a cafe all day, tethered to wifi and laden with luggage, waiting for a response from Mr. Cryptic Airbnb Host.
It was then that my key theme began to dawn on me. It wasn’t just a funny quirk that I couldn’t open stuff. I needed to know I can open things. I needed to practice having a little more power behind my entrance. Was my subconscious leading the charge this whole time, utilizing the key emoji to draw my attention to this underdeveloped skill?
For the rest of the trip, I was the key holder. I made a point of opening the tricky British door, over and over.
If you’re still reading my key saga, you get the pleasure of knowing I alone picked up the keys to our new place. After the rental guy left, I rolled up my sleeves and locked the door. Then I opened it. The door is a bit sticky and for a second that sinking feeling washed over me, but I pushed a bit more and the door swung open.
My heroic tale is far from over. To think I would have a simple London-sized quest speaks to my unfailing optimism (or naivety). Now every day I engage in an epic battle, to kill the part of myself that wishes to keep me out. To open myself to the concept that nothing is beyond my reach.
To insert a key into a lock has become a sacred ritual. There is such satisfaction in finding the right grooves and directional turns to launch into a new dimension. Although we take these little things for granted, the safety of a lock and the intimacy of pins and springs aligning with the tiny grooves of on a metal bar is no small thing. Our ritual offerings, no matter how simple, shift our environment. Perhaps if I can recalibrate my key and lock skills in the physical world, the energetic doors will open.
And why not? Magic moves in realms beyond our sight, much like the hidden dance of lock and key.
That’s all for this week.
xx
James
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