Today is our first day of bona fide cold. I know this, acutely, because I’ve locked myself out of the house. The north wind stripping the trees bare in our backyard seems to enjoy ravaging me around my short sleeve t-shirt. To the degree to which I’m bone cold, I estimate it’s 42 degrees outside. While hypothermia is certainly not imminent, I’d rather be inside. And I’m pissed that I did this to myself.
Minutes ago, I almost started this essay, but didn’t know what to write, so I procrastinated. God, the muses, and the universe took offense to my inaction and gifted me with my predicament, after I stepped across our backdoor’s threshold, flipped the bottom lock on reflex, and stepped outside. Before I reached the basement, where I rationalized working on furniture might enliven the white page waiting on me upstairs, I understood what I did. Shit. And I heard a message Steven Pressfield wrote about recently, “Accidents happen when you’re not doing your work.”
About how to proceed, my mind spun with possibility. Okay, I can always walk to the dentist in two hours, but wait, I don’t have my wallet. Hmmm, I could see if Keti (my wife) can come home and let me in at lunch, oh but she doesn’t have a lunch today. Let’s just break the door down; it’s just the bottom lock, it’ll be alright. No, for god’s sake, you’re a tenant Ryan, be respectful.
Then, with the arrival of my next rationalization of how to proceed, I see clearly what’s really happening: well, guess I just won’t be able to write the article today.
That’s it, the bullshit has gone too far, landing a low blow. And I’m incensed, furious at my willingness to consider the thought of giving away a chance to work. I’ve done that too much, too many times in my past, to resign here and now. Dejection replaced by resolve, I problem solve:
I can always Uber to Keti’s work for the house key. I can write the article on my phone during the drive. All the plans are on the table for the day. Nothing’s changed.
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As I take a seat on the stairs to hail an Uber, I hear the voice of my father-in-law, telling me as he likes to say that there are two solutions to every problem. Always. So, I look to the heavens for inspiration, about to select the Uber Economy option, but in the process accidentally glance the back of our house. Bingo, the second-floor window is unlocked.
I place my phone down on the stairs and limber up. If I can reach the windowsill, with one foot balanced on the railing, I can pull myself through the opening, into our bathroom, and land upon the toilet seat, which I pray is down.
Shimmying up the side of the house, my foot secured on the angled railing, I pop the window screen off with ease, then jam the window open. The gap is just big enough to slide my torso through, so I take a leap upward, foot unrooted from construction, and successfully heave my body onto a closed toilet seat, then somersault onto the bathroom floor. Back inside, I feel more alive than I have in quite some time.
I lock the window, return to duty at my desk, and address the blank page, seeking no more accidents and grateful for the chance to work, despite my dance with the day’s rationalization for not doing what I’m supposed to do.
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(Photo Caption: taken three years to the day from this day of which I write, the occasion was a surf session on Halloween, hints the Wayne Rooney jersey. Then, all I could think about was how to get outside, to be free from my predicament, and surf it out of my awareness. Now though, all I seek is to get back inside and get back to it.)
Ryan, buy a digital lock and install it. They are cheap and work well. I decided to do this after I, as a grown man had to call my MOTHER twice to come let me in my own house with her key. Ha
Why I have not done this yet is inexcusable! Glad to hear it happens to someone else. – Ryan