The other day I watched a little girl struggle to open a heavy door at Blue Barn restaurant.  Her father kept offering to help until finally she allowed it, and when the door opened, she closed it, and went for it again.  Finally, together they again opened the door, and entered the space, but she wasn’t finished.  She turned around and pushed from the other side.

My grandson likes to be the one to open the door to their home when we arrive.  We knock and wait, as we hear scurrying and discussion inside. Perhaps it is the energetic feel of the movement of the heavy door, the power involved, or something about inside and outside, but I find it intriguing to consider how I might pause before I open and close each door. How do I transition each precious breath?

This is the first, wildest and wisest thing I know, that the soul exists, and that it is built entirely out of attentiveness.

– Mary Oliver