Closing Old Doors and Opening New Ones

When you take a moment to reflect, how many of the situations or opportunities you’ve encountered have run their course or come to a close? How many of those are still active? Life is one never-ending hallway with closed doors waiting for you to open them. Perhaps you fling open some of these doors, only to realize they have led to a disaster. At other times, you slam the doors shut behind you so hard that they rattle their frames. And if you’re lucky, closing or opening a door steers you to some blessing. 

Let’s be real – I haven’t been opening the best doors in my door selection. Some led to missed opportunities, others saved me from starring in a personal disaster documentary. But this time felt different. For once, I had chosen a door that didn’t scream “bad idea” the moment I touched the knob. In fact, this door led me down the road of success. This guided direction allowed me to achieve part of a dream. Was it time to close this door, or was it time to keep pushing my way through?

It was the second week of November 2013. I was packing a carry-on suitcase full of clothes for a vital weekend away. My university graduation in Victoria was the most significant event I had ever attended, and I flew there. I was Heather Adel, a graduate of the Master of Public Administration program at the University of Victoria. 

Three short months earlier, I had finished weeks’ worth of editing and rewriting my master’s project. It was eighty-six pages from start to finish. It would “hit two birds with one stone” by creating a “Three-Year Economic Development Strategy” that aligns with the master’s project guidelines and addresses the needs of my current position as Economic Development Officer. Presenting the results to the Board was easy. They had been key players in creating the document. It was my dissertation defence that had me scared.

I arrived at the university 30 minutes before my presentation. The room was compact, yet functional. The six rectangular tables sat side by side, forming a honeycomb pattern. I grabbed the five copies of my eighty-six-page strategies from the bag and placed one on each table. At the front was the data projector, which lined up with the projector screen. I plugged my computer into the existing cables. Rubbing the back of my neck, I opened my laptop and clicked on the Microsoft PowerPoint presentation I had prepared for my dissertation.  

“Please work,” I said to myself as I waited for it to upload to the screen.

I felt like it was taking forever to load, but the load time was the same as at home. Everything was up and running within minutes, and I was ready to make my oral presentation. My feeling of relief was short-lived, as the 30 minutes were up, and the show was about to begin.

The smile on my face was the best I could do as I fought the fluttering feeling in my stomach. One by one, the four examining committee members came into the room and chose a part of the honeycomb to sit at. Three of the members were university professors, and one was the president of the nonprofit organization where I worked. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” I said under my breath.

I couldn’t believe that the 24-year-old president of the society I worked for had a vote in evaluating my thesis defence.

It took me twenty minutes to wrap up my PowerPoint presentation. I was clear and confident; every slide appeared where I had purposely set it. But as I clicked the last slide, the sight of nervousness quickly reappeared – dry mouth, heart palpitations. It was now up to the honeybees to determine whether I had provided an efficient structure for the colony’s growth.

We will ask you a question as we go around the circle. That will happen twice. Following that, we will ask you to leave the room while we decide on your dissertation, the head of the examining committee stated.

My comfort near the colony had grown strongly. I sat straight up in my chair, my chest pushed slightly forward. My eyes looked each member directly in their eyes. After the first round of questions, the president of my organization skipped his second question, leading to a moment of confusion. 

“Thank you, Heather. If you don’t have questions, you can wait outside, and we will call you back once we decide,” said the committee leader.

“Just wait, do we not get to ask another question?” said the president of my organization.

I was so embarrassed. Did this guy seriously not listen when the professor instructed on how the defence would work? Gracefully, the head of the committee opened the floor back up for one more question for me to answer. 

I sat in the hallway listening to the murmuring conversations. “Are they debating over me? Did I miss an answer to a question? Oh my god, did I fail?” My fearful mind took over. 

Twenty minutes later, my professor invited me back into the room. “Congratulations, Heather; you now have a Master’s Degree in Public Administration.”

Todd and I planned our flights to Victoria to be within an hour of each other. Todd had the earlier flight, which gave him time to land, rent a car, and wait for me at the “Airport pickup” part of the terminal. 

“Hi,” I said, dropping my bag on the ground. Tightly wrapping my arms around Todd’s neck, I gave him a gentle peck, conveying affection and warmth.

“I missed you,” Todd replies, softly rubbing his hand across my cheeks. His voice was soft. I needed his calmness. 

We packed our bags in the car and went to the hotel. I had thirty minutes to change and get ready to go. I stood before the mirror, brushing off anything that looked like dirt or fuss on my black dress. It was simple and understated, but it made me feel like I had arrived. The fabric was polyester, making it compact and foldable, adding to its elegance on the go. It hugged me gently, falling just past my knees, with a small slit along the left side. This dress was enough to remind me of all that I had achieved.

I slipped on my heels and clasped a silver bracelet around my wrist. The diamond earrings Todd got me glowed beautifully in my ears. As I picked up my purse, I took one last look in the mirror, and a grin of pride rushed through my body.

“You did this, Heather,” I whispered to myself. 

We arrived at the University two hours before the scheduled graduation ceremonies. I checked myself in, where the coordinators directed me to pick up my preordered gown and tassel. In a quiet room of the ceremony hall, Todd helped me slip into the robe, slightly adjusting the collar.

My stomach throbbed intensely, mirroring a hummingbird’s rapid feeding on a brilliantly hued trumpet vine. Todd and I stepped outside. I needed a breath of fresh air before taking my last steps. We took a few photos before heading back inside.  

Standing in line with 119 other graduates, the feeling of anticipation tightened my chest. Since my last name starts with an A, I was third from the front. 

The music started.

The doors opened, and we filed in one by one. The hall glimmered with people—families, friends, professors—and somewhere out there was Todd. I saw him almost immediately. He lightly waved his hand, attempting to catch my attention and confirm that he was ready to capture my walk. 

“Heather Adel, a graduate with a master’s degree in Public Administration.”

I stepped forward.

Everything blurred a little – the lights on the stage were so bright – I couldn’t tell if Todd was capturing this moment in time with photos, but the doctor’s hand was steady as he reached out and handed me my degree. 

“Congratulations,” the professor said.

“Thank you,” I said. 

With a smile pinned widely from one cheek to the other, I reached up and turned my tassel from the right side to the left, confidently stating, “I did it, it’s done.”

I smiled and looked into the audience, finding Todd like a compass. And there he was, looking back at me with an unfamiliar emotion. His pride in me looked almost as large as my pride in myself. The love I felt from him then was more profound than ever. 

After the professor called the last name and all 120 of us had moved the tassel from one side to the other, we followed the guided path back into the gym’s auditorium. I was scanning the crowd when I felt a hand on my back. I turned around to see Todd, his eyes shining like he hadn’t stopped smiling since I walked down the aisle.

“You did it,” he said, with echoing excitement. 

“I did,” I breathed, almost laughing. “It still doesn’t seem real.”

Todd stepped closer to me, brushing a stray hair from my cheek. 

“All those nights studying, all those times you doubted yourself – this moment crushed every one of them,” Todd said. “You have a master’s degree. Nothing can take that away from you.”

They denied me permission to keep the padded frame that the school used to display my degree. Instead, the university had a tri-table, walkthrough operating system designed to frame your degree how you like it. Table 1 – Frames: Available in wood, metal, or plastic. Table 2 – Matting: Thin, wide, flat, vibrant. Table 3 – Backing: Cover the page for the back of the frame and add hangable hardware to it. 

We started walking back to the car. Todd carefully grasped my glorious prize in one arm and gripped my hand with his other.

“I’m starving,” I said. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. My quivering stomach had prevented me from eating much that morning.

“Where do you want to go?” Todd said.

As I got in the car, I thought. “Where can we go for lunch to celebrate my graduation? Someplace where the people I know will see that I look at this achievement as one that is attainable by anyone who puts their mind to it.”

“Let’s go to McDonald’s,” I said. “I’m thinking a Big Mac Combo will work just fine.”

“Seriously,” Todd replies with a chuckle.

“Yes, seriously. The girls are only 7 and 5 years old. Considering all the hard work I put into my studies at school, I want them to see how exciting it was for me to graduate. And the best way to celebrate in their eyes is going to McDonald’s.” 

I realized it was time as I sat there, full from a McDonald’s meal and still wearing a faint flow of graduation. That door – the one I worked so hard to walk through, the one that held goals shaped by who I was three years ago – needed to close. Life had thrown me curveballs I never saw coming, with bipolar disorder and multiple sclerosis rewriting the rules I thought I’d live by. But instead of mourning what could no longer be, I honoured what I accomplished. That chapter was complete. It was time to close the door with gratitude—and turn toward the next one with curiosity and hope. 

The hotel in downtown Victoria was a new spot for Todd and me to stay. It wasn’t fancy in a showy way – more like quietly elegant, a space that feels like it’s been around forever. It sits just off the main drag, a block from the ocean. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t looking.

Inside, the building was a perfect blend of classic and modern—high ceilings, old wooden floors that creak just enough, velvety sofas in deep colours, and oddly perfect light fixtures that made the whole place glow at night. 

The attached lounge was dimly lit and offered a spot for low conversations. The server led us to a pair of deep, velvet chairs tucked in a place where you could disappear and stay for hours. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Asked the server.

“I’ll take a rye and coke on the side, a Gibson’s if you have it, please,” said Todd.

”I’ll have the Volcanic Hill’s merlot, a 9oz, please.” I said.

The jazz music playing in the background was soft enough that our conversations didn’t require us to raise our voices. For about an hour, we just sat there holding hands, talking about everything and nothing–plans for the holidays, dumb inside jokes, little things that only make sense between two people.

“I can’t believe tonight is our last night,” I said.

This sentence was the same one we shared each time we got together. It was the sentence that was making it feel physically more challenging to let each other go.

Todd went quiet. Not dramatically–just…still. 

“I guess I’m running out of time,” he said, almost like a sigh.

He was already down on one knee before I could even ask what he meant. Pulling out of his pocket was a little black box.

Holding it in his left hand and opening it with his right, his hands shaking lightly, he said, “Will you marry me?”

The ring was bold, stunning, impossible to ignore. The band was broad and solid in a grounded and intentional way. In the center was a one-carat round diamond, classic and bright, but what made it different was the surrounding halo—a perfect hexagon of tiny diamonds that caught the light in every direction. This ring wasn’t just pretty; it was so magnetically engaging; it pulled you in.

On each side of the band, three teardrop-shaped settings trailed down, each holding a diamond, the shapes getting smaller the farther they went—like a slow, graceful fade. Two tiny diamonds, one on the front and one on the back of the band, were like secrets only we would know. And just beside the center stone, on both sides, were delicate figure-eight symbols, tucked into the design like a whisper of forever.

My breath caught. “Oh, my god… this is beautiful,” I said, staring at the ring.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

Todd smiled as he took my hand and gently slid it onto my finger. It felt heavy, yet it seemed to belong there. I leaned in and kissed him, then wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close.

“I love you,” I said in my bubbly voice.

“I love you, too,” Todd replied. 

Somewhere behind us, a small group of people must have overheard and seen what happened as the groups shared their joy by lifting their drink glasses and yelling the word,

“Cheers.”

Todd and I grabbed our glasses and held them gracefully in the air.

“Thank you,” our voices rang out.

We finished our drinks, barely tasting them, and walked back to our room, hand in hand. It was time to celebrate–just us.

To this day, Todd swears I didn’t actually say yes to his proposal. I, of course, am confident that I said yes. But since his focus at the time was asking me the question, and the most striking ring I’d ever seen before astonished me, I have to admit he is probably right. 

But when Todd proposed, it wasn’t just a beautiful moment. It was a brand-new door standing in front of me. And behind it was a life I hadn’t dared let myself hope for. A future. A partner. A life with someone who didn’t just love me–he wanted to stand by my side, fully, completely, forever.

Over the past nine months, the doors of opportunity that were offered to me have changed from a choice to a forced marriage. From a high school dropout to a master’s degree graduate, my dreams of various future employment opportunities once held vast potential. But now, multiple sclerosis has opened doors I never intended to unlock.

But now, standing in front of Todd, I finally had a choice again. He offered me a new door to walk through, a door so wide it didn’t just welcome me, it made space for everything I carried. I knew I wanted to take that step. But stepping through that door meant I had to find the strength to achieve what my heart needed most: to have my two girls with me, building this new life together. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t simple. But for the first time in a long time, it felt possible. 

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