If you’re like most people, you own not one but several keys, a good number of which you prize so highly that you carry them around with you at all times.
But what is a key for? What does it represent?
A key represents two things. It represents (1) a border, and (2) the fear that this border may be crossed by anyone except yourself and perhaps a limited number of other designated copy holders of precisely that key.
In other words, show me an unapologetic key holder, and I’ll show you a xenophobe. For how can you be one without the other?
If you insist that you don’t have a xenophobic bone in your body, I suggest you walk your talk and unlock all your doors (front door, car door, garden gate, etc.) and then throw away all your keys.
After all, it’s enough to simply close your apartment door in order to protect yourself from that chilly draft
wafting in from the hallway. No need to lock it.
Should you prefer to lock it anyhow, what exactly are you afraid of?
Would it be entirely unreasonable to assume that among your worries resides a fear of strangers with potentially less than noble designs trespassing into a territory that you have designated as your holy sanctum? Or even a fear of benevolent visitors, strangers or otherwise, just waltzing in unannounced at all hours, whether you’re in the mood to receive them or not?
See, there are all these well-intentioned do-gooders, who, as a matter of principle, rail against walls and fences, agitating for open borders and extending a virtually illimitable welcome to all comers, and yet these same people, somewhat out of step with their own highfalutin message of untrammeled inclusion, then turn around and reflexively bolt the portals to their personal premises as if doing so where the most natural and commonsensical safeguard in the world.
What’s that all about?