Locks & Keys

An understanding of who we are in this world.

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

Like death and taxes, there’s one thing I can count on in this life. Every day, without fail, I search for some key to turn some lock I never intended on locking. For me, it’s not just the fact that I can’t find the right key. It’s more the case that I can’t find my keys at all. In fact, I can’t find my wallet, my cell phone, my watch, and some would say, any semblance of grown-up common sense. If something can be separated from its place of secure rest, especially if it can fit in the palm of my hand, I will lose it. I’ve already done that several times today and look forward to doing it again tomorrow.

I count myself lucky that the parts of me that I’m most attached to, especially those parts which can arguably fit in the palm of my hand, stay with me.

They can’t fall behind a bookshelf, drop in the weeds along the driveway, or somehow slip off my kayak rack and bounce along the eastbound lanes of Interstate 40. They cannot’ Houdini themselves free of my being. But I digress.

There are locks-a-plenty in this world, and most are obvious. Our front doors have at least one, as do our cars. Cell phones, desk drawers, websites, college mini-fridges, briefcases, lunchboxes, document bags, and even the baggie holding my crunchy peanut butter sandwich all have locks. Locks come in every shape and size; padlocks, deadbolts, knob, lever, cam locks, sliders, latches, chains, combinations, thumbprints, face prints, PIN codes, and even middle-earth-type puzzle locks. They turn, twist, zip, rotate, snap, slide, and veil their inner riches to an outside world in the form of ones and zeros.

We use and find comfort in locks every day. They exist to remind us that access is a privilege, and like the pearly gates of Heaven, I suppose, locks guard against just anyone getting in.

The real estate instantly devalues if just anyone gets in, a worse fate for some to endure than being outright robbed.

That kind of exclusivity reminds me that powerful locks don’t have to be, and are rarely, the ones made of brass, steel, cable, or Rubik combination.

Words spoken loud and pointed, and some said quietly behind backs, can be the most potent locks, and so too can silence. More profoundly than their mechanical counterparts, words keep people out. They keep out those looking shady and sounding squirrely, as well as the ones we’re afraid of for no reason at all. If that which frightens us cannot invade our bubble or touch us in any meaningful way, we are safe. But are we?

In quantifying how many times someone has broken into my house versus how many times I’ve locked myself out at two in the morning, only to wind up breaking out the glass an actual robber would have, the count is somewhere in the neighborhood of zero compared to five hundred! Those don’t seem like favorable odds to me. But, of course, I understand that those who have endured their homes broken into find sitting on the front porch locked out, a worthwhile tradeoff, and I won’t argue against that point.

I know robbery is a serious subject. That said, I once had my van broken into. I locked it outside the Exit-In in Nashville, Tennessee. For reasons passing understanding, other than selling it for drugs or having an intense need to clean, someone stole a brand-new vacuum cleaner my wife and I purchased out of our meager songwriting income earlier that day. If it hadn’t been for the shattered side window, I think I would have been happy about the intrusion. As you might guess, I felt less than enthused about using the damn thing anyway. I have a decent list of qualities, but cleanliness does not top the list. So, if I hadn’t locked the old van, it would have been a win-win for the five-fingered maid and me.

Still, I think locks are more comforting for some than open doors, even old, inviting kitchen screen doors, and maybe rightly so. If flies can get in and ruin your dinner, then anything, or anyone, can. But to share our tables, to break the proverbial bread, we must pop the latches and leave enough room for a foothold, the opportunity for connection, and forward momentum.

And that’s why we have keys.

Keys come in the form of brass skeletons and in all manner of metal Kwikset or Schlage. They exist as plastic and numbers from zero to a bazillion. But like locks, the most powerful keys are words. We use words as the ultimate weapon and as unflinching instruments of peace. Words crash stock markets, spark wars, and wedge grand-canyon-like spaces between the souls of lovers. But we can use words to organize twisted minds and prop up embattled hearts.

Words wrap their arms around the lonely, stand up for the powerless, and ring in copious amounts of healing tears and laughter.

Locks are useless without keys, and keys are useless without locks. They are engaged in a symbiotic relationship, and both have born witness to much of the world’s best and worst moments. I can’t be sure, but I believe the secret of life, be you a comfortable homebody or a wanderer of this world, and maybe even a wanderer in the next world, rests in finding the right locks and keys for the times.

The one thing I do know for sure, though, is that the irritable employee at the Lowe’s counter today showed no interest in my philosophical musings about locks and keys, given his current station in life. When I asked for five copies of my front door key, five of my back door, followed by five of my mom’s front door, and, oh, yeah, three more for the shed, all he seemed to say was something about regretting not taking his fifteen-minute break, ten minutes earlier. The man told me he was the key guy, and maybe he was just having a bad day, but he seemed more of a lock guy to me.

Lock people close life up and out. They seem anxious about what might happen and feel safer behind what already has. They covet and withhold, hide and obfuscate. But they also are protective, intensely caring about people, property, and spaces.

They are fine keepers of history and past progress, rarely losing ground to fits of impulsive openness.

They are generally good and noble in their steadfastness, and their friends trust them with their lives.

Key people sometimes don’t give due respect to boundaries and see space as something to fill. They can be imprudent and undaunted by being uninvited. However, they are often the first on the frontier of dreams and new opportunities. They push forward against a world that is sometimes hell-bent on pulling back and finding happiness for themselves and others just because they had the vision and gumption to do so. They are powerful in their pushiness, carrying the ones they love through doors otherwise closed to all.

I think of myself much more a key guy than a lock guy, but I get along with lock people well enough.

And though most of my friends would unanimously label me a key guy, I realize, like most labels, it may all be for not. The world is more complicated than locks and keys. For example, the truest measure of the man I am rests in your understanding that I just bought eighteen keys for doors I am quite sure I will never lock.

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I would love to hear what you thought about this essay and if it brought any personal memories or stories to mind. Please feel free to leave a comment. I’ll answer all of them. I would love to strike up a conversation about this piece and your thoughts. Please consider sharing this newsletter with a friend. Thank you. - Mark