Narnia has always been a doorway.
A closet door, slightly ajar. A decision you don’t fully understand yet. One moment you’re standing in the ordinary, and the next you’re somewhere else entirely. Somewhere vast. Somewhere unknown. Somewhere full of possibility.
In The Chronicles of Narnia, the children step through that door scared. Of course they are. They don’t know where they’re going, what they’ll face, or who they’ll become on the other side. And that fear never really leaves us, does it? We were children once, afraid of the dark, and now we are adults afraid of the future—but fear still follows us through every threshold we cross.
There will be many moments in life that feel like opening the wardrobe again. New chapters. New versions of ourselves. New unknowns. And for a long time, Narnia felt like a flight into uncertainty—an anxious kind of wonder, playful but trembling.
But now, Narnia doesn’t feel like fear.
Now, Narnia is Nirvana.
For me, Narnia has become existential bliss. A genuine, grounded peace. Not the kind of peace that comes from certainty, but the kind that comes from releasing the need for it. Peace with the fact that not everything is guaranteed. Peace with the understanding that anything could happen.
Bad things do happen. And that’s okay. Those are the things that teach us. Those are the things that shape us. And good things—good things are still so good. No matter how much bad exists, there is always goodness alongside it. Good is just good. It persists. It endures.
We are living in an interesting time. There is so much happening all at once—across countries and nations, inside homes and schools, inside people’s minds, hearts, and bodies. The world is vast. Overwhelming. Beautiful. Heavy. And somehow, we are here inside of it.
It’s hard. It’s unknown. Things might get better. Things might get worse.
And still—there is peace to be found here.
There is joy in the not-knowing. Hope in the uncertainty. Whimsy in the unpredictability of it all. Instead of bracing against it, what if we basked in it? What if we let ourselves sit inside the mystery, grounded and discerning, but open?
Open like a child stepping through a door.
See where it takes you. Wholeheartedly. With your feet on the ground and your heart unguarded. I have a feeling it’s going to take you somewhere good.
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