Keys fascinate me. A bolted door piques my curiosity, and my imagination runs wild creating untold treasures. I concoct amazing stories about the object’s origins, imbue it with symbolism and lore, and develop a seemingly impossible history for how it came to be in the current owner’s possession. I don’t understand the logic of hiding cherished pieces from prying eyes. Shrouded in darkness, sealed tight, the owner prohibits even themselves from enjoying the beauty of their hoarded cache.
People hold deep-seated feelings and valid reasons for bolting their homes or leaving them unlocked. Ironclad defenses prevent theft, some say, while others profess criminals will find an entry by picking a lock or breaking a window. Locks only deter the honest.
Contrary to popular belief, having wide-open doors is not a brazen phenomenon unique to rural homeowners. One thirty-year New York City resident admitted never locking her apartment. Another individual stated they didn’t have a key. Founded or imagined fear is a great motivator.
I treat security a bit casually. I like when friends stop and let themselves in without knocking or ringing a bell. It symbolizes home and conveys trust and love. There is an uplifting joy inherent in sharing with friends and family. That feeling is more important than the possibility of losing precious possessions. You can replace material items.
I feel the same about concealing talents and passions. It makes me sad when someone says, “Oh, I have always wanted to do that, but I can’t.” They have locked away a passion and prevented their authentic inner gifts from shining. They rob themselves of joy and deny everyone the pleasure of connecting with the charm of their genius.
What dreams have you locked away?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer