My front door is nothing special. It’s old. The nasty brown paint is missing in spots. It’s really heavy and the door frame has seen better days so you have to slam it to get it to latch.
But it works. It protects us from the elements. It keeps us safe. It greets people.
Or it keeps people out.
Here’s the deal. It’s my door. And I get to decide what to do with it. If you come to my house and knock on my door I might not answer. Even if I’m home. Even if I’m dressed for the day. Even if I’m not really doing anything.
I am under no obligation to do so. There is no law that says I have to open my door to anyone who knocks on it. Or even acknowledge that I hear them.
And I refuse to feel any guilt about it.
Sometimes I don’t feel well. Sometimes I’m napping. Sometimes I have a bad headache. Sometimes I am avoiding someone and since I don’t know who knocked I don’t answer the door; it’s just not worth taking the chance. And sometimes I just don't want to talk to anyone.
And I do the same with my phone. Even if I love you I might not answer when you call. I might not call you back. I can usually see who’s calling because of caller ID, but that doesn’t always change things. Sometimes I’m just not up to answering the phone.
Or a text message.
I know our society is all about instant gratification. Instant information flow. Instant communication. And lots of times I play the game. You text and I text right back. You call and I answer. You email and I respond before you’ve even moved on to something else.
But not always.
It’s my phone. It’s my door. It’s my time. It’s my life. I get to decide what to do with it. Even if that means slowing down. Even if that means not answering you long enough that you find your own solution instead of always relying on me. Even if that means you have to call someone else. Or do without.
Even if that means you have to be alone.
I am no longer interested in being all things to all people. I’m too worn out. Now I use great care to pick and choose where I spend my precious time and energy.
And I refuse to apologize for it.
Unless you live in my house with me -- then I kind of feel like I should unlock the door for you. I guess you’re special.
But I still have my bedroom door.