Danny’s Doors to Nowhere

Danny builds doors to nowhere, right in the middle of the day. There you’ll be, setting one thought down and picking up the next, and boom. Danny has put a door smack in your way.

You’ll have no choice but to walk through it, because Danny is a master carpenter. He can take any old harmless question, encode it with secrets and promises and hidden potential, and blend it so seamlessly into your path that you’ll hardly sense the danger. You might vaguely wonder: why this, why now, why me. But Danny’s doors have a way of appearing when you’re already mid-stride. When you’re energized and full of life and joy. Sometimes I think that’s the point. Danny wants some of what he thinks you have too much of—what he has trouble finding on his own.

But Danny’s doors lead to nowhere, that you must never forget. You can do whatever you want, when Danny gives you a door. You can slip through as quiet as an unremembered dream. You can whisper, letting your fingertips linger on the frame, leaving bits of yourself for him to think about. You can dance through naked, daring him to watch. You can shrug off whatever brick of anger or sadness you were holding, because a doorway feels like the right place to let go.

It doesn’t matter. When you get to the other side of one of Danny’s doors, you’ll be alone. You’ll look back and see his blank face of non-intention. He was never going to go through himself.

Danny knows his doors lead to nowhere, and he’s comfortable right where he is.