Windows, Mirrors, and Doors

There is an old saying, that we are judged by the company we keep. If true, I tell you, I must be a saint.

For my company is nothing short of divine.

* * *

My birthday has always been important to me. I don’t always say it – in fact, between you and me, until now I’ve never really said it – but it is. Has been and will be. Every year, when it comes around, I see it a month ahead of time. I’ll never “forget it” like I’ve seen some people forget theirs, and I’m embarrassed to say I do notice when others do forget mine. (Though, I’d like to think my vanity is rather in check on those occasions). I know that it’s “just a day” and I know that at the end of it, another one will appear. I know how important it is that we put emphasis on our lives rather than on a calendar. But you know what? Even knowing all that, I’ve never been able to shake the importance of March 28th.

I suppose, were I to sit and wonder why, I’d say that it’s important because it gives me a chance to be legitimately selfish. Not materially selfish (though, in that I’ve always been lucky), but reflectively selfish. Easter is about Hershey’s Eggies, Christmas is about giving and expressing love, and birthdays are a time for us to hold up metaphorical mirrors. Mirrors and windows.

“When God closes a door, he opens a window.”

I don’t believe in God, of course. And if he did exist, I certainly wouldn’t blame him for my recent struggles or my reasons to celebrate. But if we’re going to lean on the expression, as I’m want to do, I have to say that for all the doors I’ve had slammed on my face in the past year, I’ve been absolutely blown away by the number of people who keep an open window in my life’s house.

Part One – Windows

It is both a common courtesy and curiosity to ask what one does for their birthday. “Do you have any plans?” “ What did you get up to?” The expectation is that on this day of days, you should be indulging. If you’re a drinker, you should have a can of your favourite beer open before noon. If you’re a lounger, there had better be a massage on the list. Books or booze, birthday blow-jobs or solo hikes. As long as you get to celebrate.

With that pre-disposition I know it must sound odd that prior to my evening outings, I spent my birthday baby-sitting. That sounds like work, and to any true bachelor (as my friend recounts), detestable work. But it’s not.

See, until March 28th, I’d never baby-sat before. I’d helped out. I’d been around others who were. I’d been shown the ropes. But I’d never done it on my own. My two married friends of very long standing had purchased a house recently and were moving in. And, on my birthday, some of their moving plans got re-arranged and they would be much easier to resolve if they had had a baby-sitter. So they asked me.

I can’t think of a better birthday gift. My two friends entrusted me with the life of their 8 month old son. They trusted me to protect and provide for him, look after him and look over him. For about 7 daytime hours, I was given the privilege of interacting with this child – this new life, and this continuation of my two friends – on my own. Just him and me, in their new house. In his new house. Being a welcome and invited part of that has value beyond measure.

He couldn’t help but have my entire focus and attention. His wide-as-the-world grin has more beauty than the view from the top of Notre Dame and his curious eyes are more awe-inspiring than its stained glass insides. I know, because I’ve seen both.

I can read a book any day.

Part Two – Mirrors

The word I kept thinking of that evening was “blessed.” I hardly ever organize a party, let alone for myself. But I wanted celebrate with everyone this time around, and that meant celebrating everyone that made me, me. I wanted to celebrate all of the wonderful experiences I’ve been able to have and expose everyone to all of the other amazing people I know. So, I tossed out a few invites for the evening at my favourite pacho-pub. No one was to feel pressured: pressured to come, pressured to stay, pressured to spend money, pressured to drink, pressured to be anyone but themselves.

I was absolutely blown away by the response. As I took a moment to digest a shot of Butterscotch Ripple and Crown, I looked over at the tables filled with my friends, acquaintances, and family. I was giddy. School girl giddy.

There, in the reflection of my life, I recognized what I had always known: that I have received the company of some of the most brilliant, wonderful, talented, moral, honest, passionate, well-meaning, devout, and capable people that there ever was. This sounds like empty flattery – just big words. But spending time with these people, listening to their stories, being influenced by their struggles, seeing their trials and experiencing their passion... reminds me that those big words aren’t nearly big enough.

And they all wanted to come out to my birthday.

My dad once said that there is a difference between knowing it’s raining, and getting wet. Well, all my life I’ve watched the rain come down around me – but that night, I was soaked.

Part Three – Doors

One of my favourite characteristics of Hell has always been that its doors are locked from the inside. That God doesn’t put us in Hell, he wants us to be out of there: free and happy. But only we can open those doors, because we’re the ones that lock it.

You don’t need to be religious to appreciate that sentiment. You just have to believe in free will.

I don’t always understand why doors close, but I think we lock them for lots of different reasons. To protect ourselves. To bar entry from all the scary things out there in the world. To stop bad people from coming into our lives, or bad thoughts from entering our minds. There are a lot of bad people and countless bad thoughts and it can all be very, very scary. I certainly have no problem understanding why someone would want to keep a door closed. We might even be convinced that doors closing are blessings.

I don’t know. Maybe they are.

But I don’t think so. If I, myself, locked the doors that others had shut on me, where would I be? What would I have done? Only made myself a prisoner: never to experience what I see out the window, and always hating what I see in mirrors.

If there is a time and a place to close and lock a door, I’ll relent. But my 26th birthday taught me that I should always keep the keys handy.

And otherwise, it's an open house.

* * *

Epilogue

Thank you.