When one door closes, another one opens.  Isn't that the old saying?  At this moment, I'm wondering if I even want to risk the idea of one more door.  I vacillate between wanting to run and find another door that will welcome me with light and love and warmth and acceptance, and turning in my keys for good.

It doesn't help that I don't even understand why I'm in this place; hearing the slam of that particular door echoing through my mind.  When did it slam, exactly?  Was it ever fully open to me in the first place?  It was (well, is) such a beautiful door.  Strong and solid and beckoning with its charm and dark sultry sheen.  Is it any wonder I hastened to trip through it, perhaps before examining it carefully for a warning placard?

And once in, or seemingly in, did I again ignore the sights and sounds that would have prepared me for this space in which I now find myself?  Looking back, I see glimmers of evidence that all was not as the door had advertised.  In my headlong rush toward new adventures, I failed to read the signs.  Not the door's fault, entirely.  I should have paid better attention to where I was going.

So here I now stand, on the outside looking in. Once again, I thought I had it all figured out, only to realize how easy it is to get lost.  What will I do now?  Return to my safe shelter, or resolve to keep trying new doors, new connections, but with a more carefully crafted blueprint to guide me on my way?