Waldorf Diaries--Keys

I can usually gauge how complicated my life is by the number of keys I’m hauling around—it’s also a barometer to tell how settled I am—the more keys I have correlates directly to the amount of responsibility I’m shouldering—the more rent I’m paying, the more gas I’m using, the more utility bills I get in the mail, the more insurance I should have—I carry heavy noisy metal symbols of this around constantly in my pocket—

When I moved into the Waldorf that weight was diminished considerably—upon leaving the Lee Building I took six keys off my ring—there was the front door key, the garbage key, my mail key, the laundry room key, and two keys to the deadbolts on my apartment door—they allowed me entrance into my life—my home—

There have been periods in my life when I’ve carried no keys and these were always periods when I either felt the most free or alternatively the most restricted—these were also times of great transition and change—there can be a sense of opportunity with the absence of keys and the ability to choose what new keys to accept—on the other end of the spectrum (when it comes to keys I’ve found there is no middle ground) there can be an intense feeling of loneliness—even desperation—

Today, despite my present transitional state, I still seem to have a lot of keys on my ring—along with my hotel key, there’s my car key, three keys for the shop, and two keys to the apartment I was housesitting in June—this morning I saw them and thought to look at my bank balance to see if my shop rent and car insurance checks had gone through—responsibilities I am grateful for—I like the weight of metal keys because it acts as not only a reminder signifying responsibility but also of security—their bulk also helps me check if they’re in my pocket and not still in the ignition as I’m closing my car door or on the table saw when I'm leaving the shop—

In my life I’ve locked myself out of a lot of places--