In Between
By Devin Lundrigan
The month of January is named after the Roman god Janus. The ancient god of passages and doorways, of beginnings and endings, of time and transition. Janus has two faces that look at the past and future at once. This strikes me as a fitting description of where we are at Sanctuary right now.
We have returned to inviting people indoors for our community meals, and there is a lot of talk of “getting back” to where we used to be, or “returning” to the way things were.
But the truth is, we can’t really go back. We’ve all been changed by what we endured over the past three years, and our ways of communicating and interacting our different. Our expectations of each other have been adjusted.
At the building, there is a lot of action around a literal threshold: the front door. Some people stay outside and leave with their meals in takeout containers. Other folks line up for a seat inside where we are serving a limited capacity of 30 people in the basement. We’ve got a new staff role at drop-ins, that of “door person.” This person welcomes each person inside, gives them a mask, and monitors the seating capacity at the tables. The front door is a busy place. People chat as they wait to go downstairs or to see a nurse in the health clinic. Someone might sit and wait for their Wheel-Trans ride to come and pick them up, or a person might keep an eye out for a friend’s arrival. Smokers cycle in and out, chatting to the door person on the way. Although we still keep the door locked as we did during the pandemic, people have switched from ringing the doorbell to knocking on the door. A small change, but it signifies the knowledge that someone is standing right on the other side, ready to open the gates. A new space of communion has sprouted up at the literal threshold of the building.
“I’m thinking about writing something about transitions and being in-between,” I told a community member yesterday.
“Yeah, in between a rock and a hard place,” she deadpanned. “I keep hearing people talk about these new things that are happening to them,” she continued. “I’m thinking, hey, I want something new to happen for ME. When is a new opportunity going to come to me?”
We chatted for awhile, me sitting on the steps just inside the door, she in her coat, about to leave, but lingering. Someone else came by and sat down to join us for a while; others passed carrying trays of takeout containers outside because the lift was broken; people outside (glimpsed in brief moments each time the door opened) were dancing with gusto and no music; a dog on a leash trotted in for a head scratch.
“I’m going now,” my friend said, “but here’s a quote for you about doorways, sort of. It’s Oscar Wilde: ‘Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.’ ” We chuckled at this for a while and then we exited through the front door.
As the new year makes its slow, wintry way forward, we look back and remember; we look forward and hope for something new. We’re standing at the threshold, living in the doorway.