This isn’t about the 7 Keys to Happiness.

Or the 7 Keys to Enlightenment.

Or the 7 Keys to Getting a Date with Angelina Jolie.

It’s about 7 literal keys.  The kind of keys that open stuff.

One day at school I saw a custodian open a door using such a ginormous key ring that the keys alone were made up of more metal than the dental grill of the most gangster-y rapper alive.  Each of those keys, I thought, were symbolic of something over which this man was responsible. 

“Look at all those keys,” I mused to myself. “Clearly, this man is important!”

But then I paused and realized that each of those keys was indeed a symbol—of a commitment, of an obligation, of a responsibility that maybe kept him from the things in his life that he loved.  

And then when I looked at his key ring, I just felt tired.

It took awhile before this became a conscious thought in my thick-skulled head, but eventually it was clear:  the fewer keys I owned, the fewer unnecessary obligations and responsibilities I would have.  And that sounded pretty good.

So right now I have—you guessed it—seven keys:

2 keys to my house.

1 key to my car.

1 key to the mailbox.

1 key to my classroom.

1 key to a cupboard in my classroom.

and 1 key, uh, well. . .I’m not really sure what it’s for, but I’m sure it’s for something important.  That key reminds me that you can never know for sure what will happen in life.

House. Car. Classroom. Mail.  It’s my goal to never need access to more than that.

Hey, now that I think about it, maybe this IS a post about the key to happiness, after all.  TZT