Deep cleaning is revealing. I find keys everywhere—in a kitchen drawer, in the nightstand, in a small wooden box in the living room, in the office, and in an old coat pocket. What are they for? Can I toss them? I haven’t done it yet. I’m not sure why.
Keys speak of protection, keeping people or things out or keeping them in. They speak of secrecy and limited access. The first key I remember having was a key to my diary as a teen. Keys also speak of privilege and trust. Not everyone is permitted to have the key to the hospital medicine cabinet, gun storage, agency files, or front door of the building.
When you are responsible for several keys, friends think of a key ring as a suitable small gift. With your name on it. As a souvenir to remember a vacation. With a small flashlight attached. I have lots of key rings as well.
There are other kinds of keys – combinations, codes, and passwords. You keep them in your head, on your phone, or on a piece of paper. I have trouble keeping up with them. There is a combination lock box on my front door that holds the key to the house. It is there for an emergency if I am locked inside, need help, and can’t get to the door. There is a combination lock on my luggage that TSA can unlock when I travel. (They leave a note inside if they have used their key to search your suitcase.) There is a lock on my phone and plenty of passwords on my computer.
At this time in my life, I only use three physical keys—for my house, my car, and my mailbox. I’ve misplaced or lost all three at one point or another and have had to replace them. I don’t want more keys.
Then there are other keys—keys to one’s motivation, understanding a complex problem, solving a mystery, unleashing emotions, and increasing memory power—keys to get into what is held somewhere by someone for some reason.
At one time in my life, I was much more interested in them than I am now. I’ve opened enough and locked enough for a lifetime. Simplicity, contentment, and what’s available to us all suit me better these days.
