On my drive to work this morning I began to think about how sectional my history is. I began to get metaphorical then, (this happens when I’m not quite awake yet and probably shouldn’t be driving) and started thinking how each section of my history can be perfectly sectioned off as if closed by a door.
I then began to imagine each door and what I would see beyond each door frame. I imagined the first time I said good bye to a best friend. We sent letters back and forth but lost touch rather quickly, like most long distance friendships. I closed that door and moved on to making new friends in my new state.
The next door I imagine would be my mother’s door. My childhood innocence and looking up to my mother as an inspiration are closed behind that door.
The next is the door that holds the memories of my brother and I being best friends before he traded me in and ultimately left me behind.
The next door would be for the first boy who broke my heart.
The next one would be for when I lived at my friend Sam’s parent’s house. It was for a summer but it seems sectional to me. It was temporary and fleeting.
Then similarly, a door would house my memories of living at Bobby’s parent’s house for a year and a half.
So on and so forth. I’m not sure how many doors or exactly which ones I want to focus on in my future door painting art adventure but it is just the thought that’s been running through my mind this morning.
Can you section off your life this way? Are those doors locked? Can you back and take them off the hinges to make your history flow seamlessly with your present?
As I try to figure out who I am now, I intend to open these doors to see if I can figure it all out: How did I get here?