The Gate

 I love big water. Lake Michigan, Lake Superior, the Atlantic … if I’m even vaguely close, I’ll make the effort to get there and stand in awe of its shimmering foreverness. The other day I could take the quickest route home, or meander a bit just to get a glimpse of Lake Michigan. Approaching Fort Sheridan Forest Preserve, I saw Big Blue in the distance, and my heart did a happy dance.

 

Then I noticed this gate. I laughed. The park is for hikers, so if you’re on foot, you just walk around the big bad gate and head to the lake. Duh-uh. Of course the gate is to bar cars from going farther in that spot, but I got to thinking about gates we can easily walk around, like the proverbial unlocked jail cell we sometimes sit inside.

 

For me, one thing that’s been on the other side of that gate for about fifty years is eating alone in a nice restaurant. I was afraid of embarrassment and boredom. Just two years ago, I discovered solo fine dining is neither. Just skipped right around that ol’ gate—finally. What gates are you facing?

 

Sometimes getting around the gate requires baby steps. I’ve chosen to form some new habits, so although I feel like I’m slo-mo crawling around the gate, I sense progress. It might only be a couple more weeks till I’ll be far enough along to stand back up and see Big Blue’s whitecaps.

 

Some horizon-expanding gates are things remaining on a bucket list: to kayak, to live in France, to find an agent for a book. Some gates are goals: to organize records, to list family heirlooms, to research ancestors’ stories. When I feel overwhelmed by any daunting dream, I will try to think of it as just a gate I can walk around.