Under my hand, I can feel the cool smoothness of the doorknob. I stand, eyes shut and heart open, feeling what is on the other side. Feeling the enormity of the decision, feeling the fear of being wrong, feeling the path under my feet but not knowing how it will change once the door has been opened.
I breathe deeply, sensing the other doors around me. Am I right to choose this one? Will I lose access to the others forever when I step through? I want to ask someone, want a definitive answer from a voice that is not mine. At the same time I know mine is the only voice that counts.
Quieting my mind, I search my heart for what, at this moment, is the truth. I ask the hole in my heart if this is the way to filling it, to healing the wounds inflicted by closing that other door so long ago. I ask and the answer comes. I turn the handle and push, stepping through, stepping into myself. Nothing miraculous happens. There are no angels singing, no fireworks, no applause. There is simply me, on a path, walking through a door into the next stage of my life.
This is not to say I am alone. I am surrounded by those who believe in me, who want the best for me, who see me more clearly than I see myself. Some are friends, some family, some mentors or coaches. I am learning to ask for help, understanding that needing it does not make me weak. I watch things fall into place, watch myself grow with every step, watch my fear and resistance surface. I treat myself with compassion, with love and laughter. Until it no longer feels right, or until the next door appears, I will follow this path – wanting to see where it ends, but knowing it’s better – and more fun – that I cannot.