Damsel in distress takes time to examine the cost of carrying life's burdens

It was the long-awaited end to what had been an exhausting Monday. I was loaded down like a pack mule crossing the Oregon trail with the supplies of my day; a purse, a bag of miscellaneous work items, a set of high heels, coffee cup and half-empty can of Diet Coke.

I reached out my index finger, precariously balancing the weight of the day with my coffee mug, and shut my garage door.

My aching bare feet clambered across the apartment parking lot and I heard the satisfying sound of my garage door, the hydraulics closing the gate on a long day.

But with the sound of the metal door meeting the concrete came the knowledge of the one item I was not weighed down with at the current time: The manual garage door opener.

My day was over and I had succeeded in locking my own car in its garage stall.

A panicked Damsel in Distress, I called a friend, and learned that there were only a small number of options before me; something called a "Saws-All" that would release my car from its imprisonment, but not without removing a panel of the door. Another, more viable option was to place an honest but stupidity-revealing call to my landlord, who could release the Passat with a master garage door key.

I paced my apartment, pondering the options, choosing the latter. The next day, I woke up to find my garage stall open, and upon entry, the garage door opener in the cupholder where I had left it.

The first night's incident should have been a tell that my week was going to be filled with similar incidents. I had fair warning. But two days later, I exited my car, same pack-mule stance, same bare feet clambering across the parking lot, same realization that I had once more imprisoned my Passat.

This time I texted my landlord.

"This is why I often remind tenants not to close their garage doors using the mechanism on the inside of their garage," he texted back.

While I found comfort that I was not the only said tenant who had managed to perform this task, I also realized I had become both the Damsel in Distress and the Tenant Who Needs the Obvious Pointed Out.

Throughout the week, I pondered my demure ditziness and hoped for its swift passage. I also began to search for metaphors. Is it possible that in life, like in detached garages, it is all too common to become too weighed down with the day's stressors and chores, and forget the simplicity of just being in the moment? And this forgetfulness, when not imprisoning our cars, what else is it costing us? Appreciation, meditation, contentment? Sometimes you have to grab life by the remote garage door opener, regain control, and relax. What's more, sometimes, in life, you've got to look at what is weighing you down and make sure that what you're carrying is truly what's important.

But there are other options. For instance, did you know there is a tiny wire that, when unwound, can dismantle the in-door garage door opener, thus making it physically impossible to close your car in the garage?

I offer this as proof that, while you can't fix stupid, you most certainly can re-wire it.