“Good afternoon everyone, I’m currently looking for Crystal Roland here at Gate 53 flying to Seattle, Washington with Virgin America, flight number 211. Once again, this is for Crystal Roland, and you have 307 seconds left to get to Gate 53 – well – 305 seconds now. Please get here as soon as you possibly can, I’d hate to close the door on you. One final time – Crystal Roland, Gate 53 to Seattle, Virgin America flight number 211. 292 seconds left and counting. Hope to see you soon, Crystal.”

This announcement echoed with hope sincerity throughout Terminal 2 as I walked away from Gate 54 after landing home to my San Francisco fog, a complete and welcoming contrast from the dry 94 degree heat in Austin I was in prior to.

276, 275, 274, 273. I found myself counting down and still rooting for Crystal. I’ve been in this situation once, and I know how it feels to have to showcase your best effort in the barefoot sprint after passing through airport security, dodging other travelers, their luggage on wheels, and the tired air.

Time took Gold that morning. I won Silver and five additional hours with uncomfortable chairs in Gate 12 at Oakland International. Needless to say, it wasn’t a good feeling. However, there isn’t anyone within my sights that are in any hectic rush to make the gate. She’s nowhere to be found; the barefoot sprint doesn’t look like it’s happening anytime soon.

Each passing second continues to raise my curiosity over the two possibilities – will she make it, or miss her flight? My walk becomes a sluggish stroll toward the exit, and now in front of me is the backside of the security checkpoint entrance, and still I see no one in a rampant rush. My thoughts begin to wonder about this stranger – who is Crystal, where is Crystal, and is Crystal okay? Perhaps Crystal went to the wrong terminal, or airport even? Does Crystal even care?

I guess there’s the chance that she doesn’t even want to catch this flight. It’s possible she’s willingly somewhere else – somewhere where she’d rather be – not having any worries in the world that she has 180 seconds left before the plane takes off without her.

I’m now at the exit door, and unlike Crystal’s, this door will stay open for me. I can turn back around and have a few drinks at the Vino Volo and absorb all that wine (I don’t even like wine) with a breakfast burrito at Andale Mexican Restaurant (I love breakfast burritos) while I read the latest issue of People Magazine (I don’t read People Magazine) that I picked up from the next door gift shop. My point is I can do all that and more, despite if my interests are piqued, and my exit door will still be there with its same open arms. These speakers aren’t booming with warnings that I have to leave within any certain time frame. I can decide to exit on my own terms, I can decide when I want to go home.

I can even turn around and fly to Seattle.

It’s comforting knowing that some doors will never close, but not all doors are built that way, are they? Most doors have a clock on them, exactly like Crystal’s, whose door to Seattle is closing in 126 seconds. Some of our doors are always there, and they just need an easy turn of the knob. For certain doors, you may decide to be aggressive, kick them right off its hinges, and tear your clothes off as your walk through, letting everyone know of your arrival and loudly share how much you oppose the answer “no.” If you choose to, you can wait patiently, or anxiously, for doors to unlock or open themselves.

Every door is different, and new doors always present themselves at opportune times. One door may be locked now, but it could possibly open in the future. Sometimes, we find doors to a place we want to be, but were never really meant for. Or even doors that were once unlocked, but are now bolted down and the key is lost forever.

Either way, each door is a decision – regardless of how impactful – and you live and die with all of them.

You have 78 seconds left, Crystal. Good luck.