Revolving Doors

I have always hated revolving doors. I have never really been able to pinpoint why, but something about the pressure to keep moving… I think I’m onto something there.

Maybe a revolving door is like life. It’s one opportunity after another after another after another and so on. There are all these chances to jump in, but once I do, I have to move quickly because it’s going to keep moving. The worst is when I let it spin for too long without acting and end up looking like a special needs cat watching a box fan (my GIF of the day).

My fear is always that the door will hit the back of my feet, but really, what would be so horrible about that? True, it might hurt a little, but it wouldn’t permanently maim or disfigure me. The anticipation of the door catching up with me is really the part that is scary.

I can stop the door I suppose, but then I’m just in there, stuck.

Or perhaps the fear is my lack of control over the door once I’m in it. It has a momentum and weight to it that make it feel in charge. Plus, if someone gets in behind me, they are contributing to the speed of it now too. I really hate when the person behind me gets in the same compartment thinking there is room for both of us. Forced upright spooning isn’t a good look for anyone.

The other trick to a revolving door is jumping out at the right time, otherwise I have to rotate all the way around again, thus, not getting where I actually need to go.

Oh the allegory just goes on and on doesn’t it? I think the root of my hatred towards these spinning portals might be based in how easily they make themselves metaphorical, like forks in the road, soaring eagles or a Whitman’s Sampler®.

Maybe a revolving door is just a revolving door and I need to get myself together and stop looking for philosophical meaning at my local federal credit union.