The final step in my bathroom renovation was my replacing the 40-year-old, decrepit brass door knob with a new, brushed nickel version that matches the fixtures. A totally unnecessary task – the old knob worked just fine – and a little silly, considering the condition of the door it’s on. But, it was one of the few tasks where I could say, “oh, I’ve done that before,” and approach it with confidence.

In fact, replacing my front door knob and deadbolt was the very first home repair project I did all on my own. I changed it the day my husband informed me he was never coming home. All fingers and thumbs, I tackled it with a YouTube tutorial pulled up on my phone and an array of unfamiliar tools next to me. The deadbolt wobbled in its housing and the key had to be wiggled to make it fit, but the lock worked and my home was (somewhat) secure from someone who no longer wanted to be there.

Fast forward 5.5 years and here I am changing door knobs for purely aesthetic reasons, and considering doing that to all the decrepit door knobs around my home. There’s a huge difference between installing a new door knob in a moment of fear and replacing ugly door knobs to make the inside of my home more inviting. Because I am who I am, the process has me parsing all kinds of metaphors about doors and locks, access and entry – to me, to my life, to new parts I’m proud to reveal and even those I know need replacing.

You can see why coming home every day can be a double-edged sword for me. My nest, where I recharge and recoup, where almost everything I love abides, holds countless objects that challenge me with all they represent. A door knob isn’t just a door knob in my world. Going forward, I will use it as a reminder to open myself to whatever is meant for me and close the door to what is not.