Open the door

I was having lunch with a friend at a restaurant one day when he realized he had either misplaced his keys or locked them in his car. We had taken my car to the restaurant. His car was at my house.

He went through all the denial and fussing most of us do when we realize we’ve locked ourselves out.

“Maybe I brought them into your house and left them on the table,” he said wistfully. “It’s okay, though. I have an extra set in my . . .” He dug through his pockets. “Other pants.”

Game over.

He didn’t enjoy the rest of his lunch.

When we got back to the house, we looked for the keys inside for a few moments then walked out to his car. Sure enough, there they were—right on the dashboard. We walked around the car a few times.

“Maybe I should just call AAA,” he said. I offered to go get a coat hanger from the house. We walked around the car a few more times, peering longingly through the windows. You could almost touch the keys; they were that close.

I turned to go inside and get the hanger. That’s when I heard it. Popclicksqueek. I turned, and there was my friend standing triumphantly next to his car, keys in hand, a dorky smile plastered on his face.

“The door was unlocked,” he said.

So often we allow ourselves to feel like outsiders. We want to break into a new field or group but feel we don’t know enough yet, that we may not be liked, that we may fail, or that we may succeed. So we stand outside wistfully looking at others and wishing we could unlock that door and join the group.

The door isn’t locked.

You belong here.

Open it and walk in.

God, help me remember that the only one keeping me an outsider is me. Help me open the door and join the group. Help me live my life.

From the book: More Language of Letting Go

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