You know the feeling right? When you hear that knock on the door…your heart stops for a while to listen…then beats a tad faster as you are wondering “Who could it be?” You throw a glance in the mirror and try to untangle your hair and get the chocolate off your upper lip… Then you stand up a bit taller and pull the door open.
When I was a kid I remember my new school teacher telling me that a few houses away lived another girl who was one year older. So at the age of six, I happily walked over, knocked on the door and asked if we could play. In the summers the kids on the other boats we were sailing with would come knock on the boat. In the winters my friends would come knock on our door… A knock meant play time. A knock meant good times. A knock meant a friend.
Someone knocked on our door last week. I opened to find a friend outside and was happily surprised. He had said he was gonna come round that week. I don’t know if it was because my best friend invariably fails to keep her cell phone on, or because he didn’t think it necessary, but we didn’t know he was coming just then. I liked it. I liked the surprise element and the familiarity of “just dropping by.”
I missed our Greek popstar/Buddhist monk like mad when he went back to Greece as I was so used of having him run in the door, pull my hair and get me to run up the Canyon cursing through closed lips that I had decided to join him up hill in the blazing sunshine. Not that I had a choice. In fact I was used to having him run into our house at any given hour…I once awoke confused by having someone jumping up and down in my bed. The other day he came back and I was thanking my lucky star if so only for a few weeks we get to have someone running into our house and dragging us out the door at unexpected hours.
I still remember once last year, my best friend dragged home our other best friend after class and we sat talking to the small hours. It’s those unexpected get-togethers…the ones where you search the fridge and freezer for something to serve, you pull out the left overs, you sip the last drops of wine…the ones where you end up talking till dawn about the small things in life that make a difference. It’s then that secrets are shared and laughs to be heard echoing down the street…
There’s of course a difference between gate crashing and knocking. You gotta knock for someone to answer…
I love that knock on the door. I love the extra beat my heart makes. I love having a good friend over. I love putting a kettle on the stove as they sit down in the sofa and space out as they get hypnotized by the view.
Sometimes it’s not a knock on the door, it’s a beeping phone, or an email, a Facebook message, a tweet, a blog comment…it’s 21st century madness…but it’s still a knock. A knock on the door to someone’s heart. And if it’s to mine, I will invariably smile!
Come over. Tell me where your heart is hurting, where it needs healing and where it is jumping for joy, where it is loving like never before…share a bit of who you are…what makes you tick…share a bit of the beauty of your soul.
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