Silly me. I thought that walking up to the door and turning the handle would mean the door would open.
Wrong. Apparently I still need to work on my expectations.
No matter how I tried, the latch remained firmly in place. Of course I was also already ten minutes late in leaving for a meeting.
“Ummmm, Nadia… I can’t get out of the door.”
There is something you should know here. My roommate and I approach 99.9% of life differently. While I am concerned about doing everything right and not messing anything up, Nadia just jumps in and starts doing something.
Sometimes it means that we don’t have electricity for a few hours because she tackles the sparking wires in the wall since our electrician doesn’t have a cell phone to call. But most of the time, it works out okay and it drives me crazy that I’m too timid to react this way. Honestly it also makes me angry at times because I want to be able to say, “See, that is why I didn’t try to do it myself.”
So Nadia appears with screwdrivers to remove the door handle. But even once it was removed, the latch refused to budge. I was mentally calculating the chances that another fire would start in the apartment while we were locked inside with no way out, quickly coming to the conclusion that with my luck in 2012 the odds were too high.
While mentally preparing a “what to do if…” list and sending a message to my lunch meeting, Nadia just kept at trying to open the door. She is a persistent one and somehow she opened it as I ran out in a flurry to accomplish my now delayed schedule of the day.
I left frustrated, once more, with my home here that seems to me extremely unreliable in the safety department. I’m sure Nadia probably went about the rest of her day and didn’t give it a second thought.
I’d like to blame it on the fact that, being Ukrainian, Nadia expects nothing to work as it is meant to and, being American, I expect that it will work.
But then I wonder, do I hold too tightly to this expectation of safety as I perceive it instead of trusting that God is in control and will protect me? Why don’t I jump in and attack the problem head on instead of being concerned about Â all of the “what ifs”? Is it bad that I approach things this way?
Or am I really just beating my head against a cultural wall here and for my own sanity should just move out of the apartment?
So many questions I have. But one thing is certain, my silly expectation of feeling safe and totally in control… shattered completely.