If you know me even a little bit, you know I am a coffee addict, a night owl, and a word nerd. Trust me, it has taken a lot of caffeine and many late nights to keep this blog going for three months in a row now. In three years, I know I will look back on this statement and scoff at myself for thinking three months as a blogger was an accomplishment. But here I am, pretty darn happy I have kept this thing up so far.
My love of words started as far back as I can remember. Around age 4, I decided to be an author when I grew up. In first grade, I wrote a play and it won a contest and kids actually performed it. The story focused on an elephant in a toy store, and I can’t remember much else. Yet I do remember it was a milestone in my writing history.
Then middle school, high school, and college happened and with those years came countless essays, term papers, and creative writing assignments. I ended up as a Communications major with an English minor at a liberal arts college. I went on to become a 25-year communications professional, and still going. One trick pony? Sometimes I think maybe…
But as the lifelong word nerd that I am, I have to say I’m quite proud when I see shades of the same within my two children, The Precious Pair. Nothing has stirred this pride in me more than a recent car conversation with my youngest.
This entire blog revolves around an analogy she created, but first let me comment on analogies. All good writers know their purpose is symbolic comparison, and they are to be used sparingly and creatively in one’s writing. Nothing worse than an overdone analogy, otherwise known as a cliche. Word nerd writer types like to turn cliches on their heads with original spins.
My 10-year old’s analogy was a true original, and ever since she mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about it:
HER: “Well, you know how zombies can’t open doors?” (She asked me this matter-of-factly, as if everyone should know it already.)
ME: “No, I guess I never realized that, but it makes sense. Their arms aren’t really functional, since they’re dried up and dead, right?”
HER: “Right! So think about it, all of us are zombies when it comes to someone else’s heart.”
ME: “Okay, how do you mean?”
HER: “We are all zombies because we can’t open the door to anyone’s heart, unless it’s our very own heartdoor to open. The zombies are my family and friends. They can lean and push against the door to my heart. But only I can decide to let them in.”
ME: (Mind blown.) “Wow, I guess you’re right. That’s a pretty fantastic analogy.”
HER: “Yes, and happy people let the zombies in. Unhappy people have a harder time letting them in, which is a little sad.”
ME: “I agree. I’m glad that people like you and me let a lot of people, I mean, zombies into our hearts.”
HER: “Me, too, Momma.”
This recent exchange has led me to think deeply about the past year of my life and several different doors I’ve been leaning on and pushing on like a zombie. Personal relationships, career challenges, legal struggles, and real estate transactions, all included. The past 10 months have beat me up on many days. But as in the analogy, a zombie doesn’t feel pain.
Maybe that’s why I keep pushing on some impossible-to-open doors so hard. I’m not allowing myself to feel the pain; that is, until one of the doorkeepers opens their door a tiny crack to say “This one is not gonna’ open for you, so why make a fool of yourself trying?”
Then reality sets in. I’m not a zombie after all. I’m a living, breathing, feeling, flawed, and – yes – sometimes foolish human being. And I’ve encountered my fair share of door slamming lately.
What do I mean? People whom I wish would heal who aren’t ready to heal. Promotions I’ve gone for that I’m not going to get. Employees I want to hire with no budget to do so. The quiet cubicle I need that’s still one year away in the blueprint. The price I ask for my house that no one is willing to pay. My moving date that keeps moving. A clear view of my future that appears only as a fogged mirror.
Wow, that’s quite a list.
Yet, this list is Life.
Sometimes we zombies need to take a step away from the locked doors to find different ones. Look for glass doors you can see into. Screened doors you can feel the breeze through. Colorful painted doors that welcome you. Automated doors with the silver button on the wall – even a zombie can lean against that button and open that door!
Find your doors. The ones that are meant and made just for you. The ones that joyfully fly open when they see you coming!
Matters of the heartdoors are complicated. That’s why we have the expression “a change of heart.” The muscle in our chest is not the most reliable tool for decision making. That’s why I now insist on blending and balancing the emotions of what my heart tells me with the sensibility of what my brain tells me. The heart and brain work together to form the reliability of the gut instinct. The gut allows the door of the heart to stay closed for protective purposes, and in other cases to open more readily when the rewards just might outweigh the risks.
“There are no guarantees.”
“Always listen to your gut.” “If it’s not your door, it won’t open.” What great clichés!
“Lean on your fellow zombies.”
No cliche intended.
These deep thoughts were sponsored by my daughter, The Little Analogy Genius. I will encourage her to keep up with her word-nerding along with her number-nerding. (She’s wayyyyyyy better at math than her sister and me.) In fact, I hope she keeps on nerding in general because we‘re going to need her and all the other young smart ones when the REAL zombies invade!
With love from my gut,