Imagine if you will, a theater major, in London on a trip to study at the world famous Globe Theater recreation.
They get one moment on stage alone to deliver the Shakespearean monologue they have been working on for 3 months.
His wife, newly married is on the trip. He held the engagement ring in his pocket the night he saw a lord of the rings movie in the theater at premiere night. His bride is in the audience waiting to hear her man deliver his Shakespearean monologue on this famous stage.
Full of confidence and vigor he steps up to the beautiful and ornate double wooden doors. He envisions being like Aragon and pushing open the doors with force and righteous purpose. He’s going to burst onto the stage and deliver the monologue of his life. Impress his bride, his father and his mentor.
He takes a deep breath, thanking fate for the opportunity, a smaller breath to calm his anxiety and a pause to thank the fates he made it to this moment.
With the monologue in his tongue and an ego full of vigor and passion he pushed against the doors like a sprinter breaking out of the starting block.
What he got was a resounding, terrible thud.
The doors didn’t swing open, he didn’t emerge as a valiant Aragon.
They just went thud.
Because they were doors that didn’t push. They were pull.
He adjusted, pulled and delivered the monologue, a tense victorious stream of words that would have been so much better if everyone hadn’t been giggling about the thud.
Hubris is a vicious judge. But also seems to have a sense of humor.
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