Here at Lands’ End, we’re lucky enough to have an incredibly talented bunch of colleagues; all with amazing experiences, opinions and journeys to share. So in a new, occasional series we thought we’d hand the blog over to them so they could share their stories with you. Here, Sarah Roads from our Marketing Team shares her unique take on life's journey…
Keys: The Real Circle of Life.
The steps throughout our lives, our growing maturity and our responsibility can be counted or measured in keys. From a tiny teething babe we were handed plasticky, chewable keys upon which to soothe, numb or sharpen our fledgling pearly whites. As we grew, we were given bunches of keys to play with, to keep us quiet and amused, while our responsible adult carers got on with their mysterious and important tasks. Keys became central to our play and imagination.
From finding keys while raiding Lara's Tomb, to the symbolic and imaginary treasure chests containing everything Pandora could imagine. From squirrelling away the key to our own much shaken and sadly empty piggy banks, to the joy of discovering the hiding place of the teeny tiny key to our big sister's five year lockable diary. And talking of big sisters, didn't we all spy and secretly desire another type of tiny silvery key on her much coveted charm bracelet?
So, what is this thing with keys? Are they a symbol of success and maturity, or of control? Who can forget the striking images of those industrial style bunches hanging beside a dark uniform during the opening credits of every TV show containing the word Cell, Prisoner or Porridge. And what about all of those Westerns, where the good guy (white hat), having been criminally locked away by the dastardly bad sheriff (black hat), escapes by hooking that glorious circle of clanking keys off the hapless deputy's belt?
As we grew, so did our bunch of keys. At first we were let in on the secret that a spare key to the house was under the plant pot, just in case we got out of school unexpectedly early. And, oh the joy of being home alone. The TV and the biscuit tin were both under our control, and we would encourage the dog to join us on the sofa. Until mum got in at least.
This was then followed by that great coming of age: our own key! No marking of the passage of time is surely as symbolic. Forget the oversized and decorative 'Keys to the Door' received on our 21st birthday. We now had our hands on the real deal. The keys to the kingdom. Of course this came with caveats and threats of what would happen to us, our life and our universe, should anything amiss happen to this two inch piece of metallic treasure.
The keys came in fairly rapid and regular succession then. Bike padlock keys, garage keys, car keys, student accommodation keys, until eventually our own home keys, and then the circle completes when we hand our own squally teething tots a bunch of plasticky, chewy keys. Or does it?
Somewhere along the way we gave back the keys to our childhood home, the lock on our sister's diary became so flimsy that the key became redundant (there never was anything interesting in there anyway) and the TV shows and spaghetti westerns fell out of favour. We grew up.
Then came the time when we once more needed the key to our parents pad - just to keep an eye on them, drop off some groceries, make supper, to put things straight. But I guess the real full circle comes along when we once more hand our front door key to our own offspring, while theirs looks on, chewing and dribbling on something remarkably familiar and plasticky. Keys; the real circle of life.
Comments