I've loved this song for years. George Harrison wrote it as an encouragement to his friend Bob Dylan, who had withdrawn from public life and performing for a time. It's an invitation to open up and share your love with the world. Lately, though, I've been hearing it differently...
I've spent most of my life keeping people at arm's length, including those I love the most. My patient, amazing husband has spent years sliding things through the cracks of the locked door of my heart. I can receive some of what he's offering, and I can offer some of myself in return, but I've never quite opened the door.
I understand a lot about why. I can trace the patterns back through childhood, recognize the protective mechanisms, and see how they developed. There's value in that understanding, certainly, but knowing why the door is locked doesn't unlock it. And I'm getting tired of living this way. I'm tired of keeping the most tender parts of myself tucked away, afraid of... something I can't even name...
So what does unlock the door? The mind wants a master key, one beautiful answer that makes the whole thing fall into place. But my experience has been much messier than that. It seems to come down to showing up, day after day, returning to presence, welcoming what's here, and allowing myself to be seen even when every old instinct tells me to retreat.
And underneath all of that, I keep finding love.
Not self-love as some kind of personal empowerment project, or a matter of convincing myself that I'm worthy. I'm talking about something much deeper and less conceptual: the fierce vibration of the unconditionally loving aliveness that I am. Something that doesn't depend on how someone else feels about me or whether they love me back. It's already here, permeating every experience, even when I lose sight of it.
The more I come into direct contact with that love, the more things shift. I think this is at the heart of what unlocks things. The shift isn't coming from figuring myself out or understanding every reason I've spent a lifetime protecting my heart. It's coming from experiencing love itself, and learning to let that love be the place I come from. Love for love's sake. For life's sake.
Throughout my various careers, I've watched people transform right in front of my eyes, and it is always incredibly inspiring. The older I get, the more I recognize how much is possible when we begin to loosen our grip on the ways we've learned to protect ourselves. And now I find myself wanting that more deeply for me, too. I have so much love to offer, and there's so much I want to receive.
I can't unlock someone else's heart for them, just as they can't unlock mine. But I can keep making myself available to love. I can keep returning to that place in me that knows no separation or conditions, and see what becomes possible from there.
I don't have a neat ending for this. I'm still figuring it out, still finding my way, and probably still going to encounter those old locks in places I didn't know existed.
For years, I've heard this song as the person extending the invitation. The one saying, "Come on, open your heart! It's safe here. I'll hold the space." And I mean that. But I think I've also been very comfortable in that role, perhaps more comfortable than I've realized. It's one thing to invite someone else to open their heart. It's another thing entirely to open your own.
All these years, I thought I was George Harrison, singing to Bob Dylan. I'm beginning to realize that maybe I'm Bob Dylan.