Closing Doors, Finding Joy

After a while, we need to stop sampling and start savoring.

In John's Gospel, Jesus asks his disciples if they, too, wish to leave him after many have already walked away. Peter responds with perhaps history's most relatable moment of commitment: "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." He seems to suggest: I'd love to walk away sometimes, but I know better.

We live in an era of swiping through potential partners and maintaining multiple backup plans. The itch to explore, to peek behind Door Number Two (or Three, or Four), is a siren song promising something better. But this comes with hidden costs.

When we constantly scan the horizon for better possibilities, we're never fully present in our chosen reality. It's like trying to watch three movies simultaneously — you'll catch glimpses of each but miss the meaningful arc of any.

True freedom doesn't come from keeping all doors propped open but from choosing one and walking through it decisively.

Commitment isn't the death of possibility but the birth of depth. We don't grow wise by skimming book summaries but by letting certain texts transform us through repeated engagement.

As St. Ignatius said, "It is not knowing much, but realizing and relishing things interiorly, that contents and satisfies the soul."

The richest lives aren't built on perpetual hedging, but on the courage to close certain doors — not in resignation, but in celebration of the glorious specificity of the path chosen.