59/retake

59. The door slammed, and I never looked back.

We all have our personal idiosyncrasies and phobias, mine while maybe small, and insignificant is very real, I am afraid of revolving doors.

 Big or small, made of glass or metal, the ones you need to push by hand or even worth the one that have a life of their own and move (so quietly) on their own.

It always feels like a test devised by some cruel anonymous hand. Every time I encounter one I need to stop, take a deep breath and collect myself. I cast a quick look to each side maybe, maybe there is another way, and then, and only then, when I am convinced this is my only option, I go deeper into myself and pull at my inner strength. Like a worrier before the moment of contact I watch for the right instant and step in.

Panic,

Will I be locked inside, doomed to go around and around in this clever web, while others, on the outside watch, point, and sneer? Those few seconds when I am feeling utterly helpless and exposed seem like eternity.

And then I see the other side,

OK, I can do this, I did it before. It’s just a matter of precise timing. Pick the right moment; unglue my feet and walk away that is all. I throw a quick look back, behind my shoulder, and see the glass wing approaching, ready to close on me. Another deep breathe, maybe even a short prayer. I command my left leg to move forward as the rest of me lugs behind. I am out.

Ah, the relief.

In the last second I almost yield to the urge to send my hand and slam it but then I remember this saying; “Whoever said nothing is impossible never tried to slam a revolving door.”

So while I am still on a winning streak, I force a shaky smile, raise my head, and walk away.