The Door Openers
(A reflection on teachers, mentors, and the quiet ones who shape us)
I used to think teachers were something you left behind after graduation. Classrooms, chalkboards, credentials—that kind of thing. But I’ve come to understand that my real teachers didn’t always stand at the front of a class. They stood beside me during hardship. They opened books I didn’t know I needed. They asked the questions I was afraid to ask myself. Some never even knew they were teaching me.
The Stoics remind us that every great mind stood on the shoulders of another:
No Plato without Socrates.
No Marcus Aurelius without Rusticus or Epictetus.
No Stoicism at all without Crates—nicknamed the Door Opener in ancient Athens.
That image stays with me. A door opener.
That’s what the best teachers do—they don’t lecture; they invite. They don’t hand out answers; they spark curiosity. They don’t make us feel small; they show us how vast the world really is.
I’ve had many door openers in my life.
A stranger who offered kindness on the road.
A wise friend who held up a mirror with gentleness.
My husband, Ron, who teaches me resilience every single day.
And yes, the Stoics themselves—Marcus, Seneca, Epictetus—men I’ll never meet but who somehow walk this road with me, whispering strength when I forget mine.
But I’ve learned this too: the teacher doesn’t always come knocking. Sometimes, we have to go looking. Zeno sought out Crates. Marcus studied until the end of his life. They didn’t wait to be taught—they chose to keep learning.
I hope I never stop seeking out the door openers.
I hope I never believe I’ve learned enough.
And when I can, I hope I become one.
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