The Gate
The entrance to my apartment complex is blocked by a large, black, metal gate. It's an imposing structure, with a sturdy, silver, 9-digit keypad mounted to the side that bars entry to all those who don't belong.
I often find myself watching that gate, and watching the many residents that come and go through it. To them it's barely an obstacle, a tiny hurdle that completely fails to register as they return to their apartments at the end of the day. Their minds are on other things: what to have for dinner, what to watch that evening. Opening the gate is second nature for them now. Passage granted to someone who belongs on the inside.
And then someone else comes along. An outsider. They nervously eye the tall, dark bars, wondering how on earth they're going to surmount this impassable barrier.
"Oh no! I don't know what the code is."
"I just wanted to make a quick delivery. How am I going to get in?"
"Let me message her, so she can come and get us."
I watch them. They don't know what I now know.
The gate is not locked.
A quick pull, and it would swing open. They'd step across the threshold. They'd be on the inside, too.
So let this serve as a reminder. If you come across a gate in your life. A gate you want to open, but think you can't. Give it a pull.
It might not be locked.