Just a door.

Take a look at this picture. What do you see? A door, right? Just a door.

Behind this door are our condo mailboxes. I need to go through this door at least once a week to collect my mail. I fear the mail woman already regards me with some level of suspicion, possibly resentment, for making her have to squeeze all my mail in that tiny space, day after day, when all the other condo owners display more diligence in collecting their mail. Because this is a condo community, no one has individual mailboxes next to their apartments. My apartment is the ONLY one of almost 400 that is on ground level. Some benevolent spirit was watching over me because Philadelphia is a city of row homes with floors of steep stairs and multiple levels. That I found this gem is a true miracle. If I believed in such things. I do not.

But back to the door. Cast your eyes downwards to that wicked little cement step. It might as well have a sign painted on it saying, "I am here to make Dee's life difficult! Let's see if the poor bugger can get over my threshold!"

In order to enter the building, I first have to pull open the rather heavy door. It opens towards me. While holding that open, I need to step up into the lobby area. This would have been a very simple exercise five years ago - I would not have given that door a second thought. But now, it is a challenge. It taunts me. It requires careful coordination for me to manage to arrive safely at my mailbox. With the open door resting against my back, I have to hoist myself up the step by holding onto both sides of the entry doorway. It is quite a performance.

Hence a week between mail pick up. I practice avoidance. Very seriously.

It is possible that one day I won't manage to overcome that door. I have already thought of alternatives. Get a mailbox at a post office or beseech the condo management company to make an exception and give me a mailbox outside my door.

There are always alternatives and work-arounds. SEPN1 and all its pernicious accouterments will not get the better of me. Challenges are gifts wrapped in foul-smelling shit. The overcoming process is nasty but when you get through it - it is quite beautiful.