The Importance of Closing, But Not Staying Closed

I have been thinking recently about how many things in our world close every day.

Restaurants close. Stores close. Offices close. Schools close. Even places that are incredibly successful and busy eventually lock the doors, turn off the lights, and put up the CLOSED sign.

And nobody thinks anything is wrong.

We understand why they close.

They need to clean up. They need to restock. They need to repair what was broken during the day. They need to prepare for tomorrow. Most importantly, the people who work there need to go home, rest, sleep, and have lives outside of the place they spend so much time giving their energy to.

The business doesn't close because it has failed.

It closes so it can successfully open again.

That idea has been sitting with me lately because I believe we need to give ourselves permission to do the same thing.

There are times in our lives when we need to close.

We need to close ourselves off from work for a little while. Close the computer. Close the calendar. Put down the phone. Stop answering everyone's questions. Stop solving everyone's problems. Stop producing. Stop performing. Stop trying to be everything for everyone.

Sometimes we need to close emotionally too.

Life can hurt.

Relationships can hurt.

People can disappoint us. Dreams can fall apart. Plans can change. Something we thought was going to last forever can suddenly look very different than we imagined.

In those moments, closing can actually be healthy.

Sometimes our heart needs to close for a little while so we can figure out what happened inside of it.

Sometimes we need space.

Sometimes we need silence.

Sometimes we need to stop giving long enough to figure out what we actually have left to give.

Closing isn't always quitting. Sometimes closing is healing.

The challenge is knowing the difference between closing and staying closed.

Because the restaurant doesn't put up the CLOSED sign and leave it there forever.

It closes with the intention of reopening.

That's the part we sometimes forget.

We get hurt and close our heart. Then we leave it closed.

We fail and close ourselves off from taking another risk.

We trust someone and get betrayed, so we decide trusting people is dangerous.

We love someone and experience heartbreak, so we become more careful about loving again.

We share an idea and get criticized, so we stop sharing.

We try something and it doesn't work, so we decide maybe that part of us shouldn't come out anymore.

What began as protection slowly becomes isolation.

And sometimes we don't even notice it happening.

The CLOSED sign was supposed to be temporary, but months or years later, it is still hanging in the window.

There is an important difference between closing to recover and closing to hide.

One restores us.

The other slowly makes our world smaller.

There are three really important reasons we need to close sometimes: to rest, to restock, and to recharge.

We close to rest because we are human.

We cannot constantly be ON.

Our bodies literally demonstrate this every day. We sleep. Our hearts beat and release. Our lungs inhale and exhale. Nature moves between day and night. Seasons move between growth and dormancy.

Life isn't designed to exist in one constant state.

Neither are we.

We also close to restock.

Imagine walking into a restaurant at the end of an incredibly busy night. The shelves are empty. Ingredients are gone. Dishes are everywhere. The staff is exhausted.

Opening the doors for another hundred customers isn't heroic.

It would be terrible business.

Yet we do this to ourselves all the time.

Our patience is gone, but we keep saying yes.

Our energy is gone, but we keep showing up.

Our creativity is depleted, but we keep trying to produce.

Our emotional capacity is empty, but we keep allowing people to take from shelves that have nothing left on them.

Then we become frustrated, resentful, short-tempered, exhausted, or disconnected and wonder what happened to us.

Maybe nothing is wrong with us.

Maybe we need to close and restock.

And then we close to recharge.

I love how differently we treat our phones compared with ourselves.

If my phone is at 3%, I don't look at it and say, "Come on! You should be able to keep going."

I plug it in (to be fair, my phone is at 3% a lot lol). 

I understand that I have been using it all day and the battery has been depleted.

Yet we somehow expect ourselves to give energy endlessly without reconnecting to the things that give energy back to us.

For me, recharging means getting back to the things that make me feel centered and alive. Movement. Nature. Silence. Adventure. Meaningful conversations. Being around people I love. Being alone (another article I plan to write here). Creating. Thinking. Laughing. Sleeping. Doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with productivity.

Whatever it is for each of us, we need to know where our outlets are.

We need to know what actually charges us rather than what merely distracts us.

But then comes the part that requires courage.

We have to reopen.

There comes the moment when resting becomes hiding.

When protecting our heart becomes building a wall around it.

When taking space becomes avoiding life.

When being careful becomes being afraid.

When healing becomes an excuse to never risk getting hurt again.

And I don't want that.

I want to give myself permission to close without allowing myself to become closed.

I want to be able to say, "I don't have the capacity for this right now," without turning that into, "I will never have the capacity for this again."

I want to be able to step away from people without deciding I don't need people.

I want to experience heartbreak without deciding love isn't worth it.

I want to experience disappointment without becoming cynical.

I want to fail without becoming afraid of trying.

I want to rest without disappearing from my own life.

Maybe that is the question we need to ask ourselves when we find ourselves closed:

Am I closed because I am restoring myself, or am I closed because I am afraid to reopen?

I think there is wisdom in knowing when to flip the sign.

Sometimes the healthiest thing we can do is say:

CLOSED.

I'm tired.

I need some time.

I need to rest.

I need to think.

I need to heal.

I need to restock.

I need to recharge.

There is nothing weak about that.

And eventually, if we want to experience everything life still has available to us, we have to walk back toward the door.

Maybe slowly.

Maybe carefully.

Maybe differently than before.

We don't have to reopen exactly the way we were.

In fact, perhaps the point of closing is that we reopen differently.

With better boundaries.

With more awareness.

With greater clarity about who and what deserves access to us.

With more understanding of our capacity.

With more respect for our energy.

With more intention about where we spend our time.

And maybe with a little more appreciation for what it means to be open in the first place.

Closing isn't the enemy of openness.

Sometimes closing is what makes genuine openness possible.

So close when you need to.

Rest.

Restock.

Recharge.

Repair what needs repairing.

Take inventory.

Clean up what became messy.

Turn the lights off for a while.

PLEASE remember that the CLOSED sign was never meant to become who you are (I am typing this out for me too)! 

At some point, when you're ready, walk back to the door.

Unlock it.

Turn on the lights.

Flip the sign.

And open yourself to life again.