I didn’t realise before, but if I stand just so, half standing, half pushing my booty out – like a chicken needing a poo – I can see my reflection in the window handle.

It was a moment of discovery. Unintended, I have to confess.

My eyes were travelling around the room. I wanted to suck in all the details of my interior space and go for my travels – into minutiae I’ve never before considered and really take the time to look and to think and to wonder.

So the shiny, mirrored surface of the chrome finish caught my eye.

‘I wonder if I can see my reflection?’ was how the conversation went. That is why, dear reader, I stood from my chair in the most awkward of positions to check my theory.

It was a small moment of satisfaction.

And one which, now I know of its existence, I feel rather compelled to keep repeating.

I have worked out the angle at which I must stand, to catch a glimpse of myself in the window handle.

It obviously serves no purpose, other than to remind myself I am here and I can see myself in the chrome veneer. Which, I tell myself, is as good a reason why I should always ensure my window handles remain cleaned, buffed and polished to a mirror finish.

Not a thought I had considered previously.

And while studying the handle I ponder on it’s slim, simple, yet elegant design. I know I was given a choice of handles by the builders and I chose these because – if memory serves me correctly – I didn’t like the other choices they offered.

I forget now what I didn’t like about the handles proffered, because how can one really dislike a handle?

Which is rubbish. Absolute balderdash. Complete nonsense and all the rest of it.

Because… 

Handles are so very important.

And despite them being very important, we forget the power of the detail of a handle.

Say for instance, if you’re choosing a new kitchen, the design of a handle can have a huge influence on the look and finish of the room. A handle can make kitchen doors look traditional or modern, outmoded or bang on trend.

Handles can be quiet and unobtrusive, they can be loud and proud and shout ‘look at me’. Handles can be functional or frilly, wildly expensive and/or dirt cheap. They can be made of anything, literally anything, makeshift tugs can be made from sticks and carrier bags if needs be.

And yet before now, I don’t think I’ve ever really sat down and considered the importance of a handle. How very critical it is to the opening and closing of things.

Without a handle, how would I open my window? Without it’s chrome bar, would I push and shove and tie it with string so it wouldn’t blow away? And what about my doors? How would I enter and exit a room and block out the rest of the world when it’s time to go to sleep?

And it was at that moment I realised, with a very deep, big feeling of realisation and recognition of a previously assumed assumption of something and nothing, that a handle makes things secure and it allows and prevents access.

So I survey again the simple, humble handle. And I find myself saying a small thank you to its presence, to its inventor.

I remark in my mind, how often it is we overlook the basic, yet important things that make life just work: the unseen, forgotten items that don’t mean anything, until perhaps, they break.

And in that moment, I realise why we say we have a ‘handle on life’, for it means we understand things, we get things, stuff makes sense: we can open and close, to our heart’s content.

When we don’t have a handle on things, we are cast adrift, confused in chaos – for how can we open and close without a handle? How can we secure anything and everything without a handle?

And so I look again at my simple, humble window handle and I say a small prayer to the handle Gods, for this little handle keeps out the cold and the wet and the rain.

And I smile, because I have another realisation: sometimes gratitude can be found in the most unobvious of places.

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