Our garage door is the hardest door in the world to open. I learned this last night as I drove my shoulder into the wood in my fourth attempt at gaining entrance. It wasn’t because I didn’t have a key. The door was unlocked. The handle, however, refused to work the way handles are designed. It either jammed when I jerked it left or spun wide when I twisted it right. It was terrible timing. I’d never needed inside the small, crumbling building more than in that moment. Infuriated and out of patience, I gave the door a kick. Our neighbours happened to be outside on their back porch with a clear view of my emotional weakness. I heard them laugh. It may not have been at me but it may as well have been. I glared at the rotting wood; I’d never felt more useless.