I had been reading an article about how precarious life is for people living in rural China who were not issued government identification cards. Without the ids, they struggled to find work, they were unable to travel or to access medical care, education or state aid. It sort of shocked me that something so small — an id card —  can make the difference between a life of ease and a life of struggle and uncertainty. It seemed so unfair, but far away. These are not Special Alana problems; I have the requisites I need for a good life, for a safe life, for a life that is certain and easeful.

A few days later, I had found myself a new place to stay while I was in Cali. I went to the grocery store to get some food, soap, basic items and when I came back, I sat the groceries down outside, opened the door, stepped inside, took my shoes off, put my phone, key, and wallet down, put the flowers I had bought in water and then walked out to grab the rest of the groceries.  The door closed behind me and I heard a click. A little panic rose in my heart. I tried the door. Locked.

There I stood, outside, barefoot, keyless, phoneless, wallet less and totally screwed. A wave of fear, followed by incredulousness, washed over me. You see, I am someone who has the requisites I need for a safe life, for a life that is certain and easeful. I have money and a home to live in. I have friends and family who will come to my aid when I am in need. I am an upright citizen, with an identity, credit, education, employment and the status to open doors. Until, quite literally, I can’t.

If I had shoes, I could walk to a friend’s house and use her phone. If I had a wallet I could buy those shoes. If I had my phone I could call for help. But I had none of these.  Something so small — a locked door — stood between me and the basic items I needed. The things I rely on. The things I take for granted. The things I am so sure are mine, there to serve me, to keep me secure, until of course, they don’t.

In the end, I knocked on a neighboring door and the kind couple inside helped. They called a locksmith, so I could get back inside, and within a few short hours, I was reunited with the objects I rely on and all was well. A few more hours and this was an event to laugh about, a misadventure, a mistake, an aberration from normal everyday life.

A few days more and it could be forgotten, I could gloss over the deep truth that this lockout revealed:  Objects are not bound to me, and the requisites I rely on are not reliable. Circumstances constantly change, no matter what boons and benefits I believe I have, that I have grown accustomed to, they can leave me at anytime — all it takes is a change in circumstance and I am not so mighty and special after all.  Sometimes, it is something so small that makes the difference between safety and ease versus danger and despair.

But the truth is, I never did forget. It may seem like something so small to you Dear Reader, getting locked out. But for me, the feeling of helplessness was profound; over and over this story arises in my practice when I search for examples of how things change so easily. How I am not exempt or safe or different than anyone else. After all,  I simply need to wait and something as mundane as time will ensure that circumstances change.