Brace yourself. I’ll be the first to admit this is about a first world problem. Knock wood, it wasn’t tragic. Not life or death. As far as real problems go on a scale from 1 to 10, this one rates about a minus 12. Nevertheless, first world problems can be irksome. Irksome to the point of crazed obsession. Such was mine.

The one I’m referring to started when I happened to be browsing on Etsy and came across a bracelet. Not an expensive one at all – on sale for $12.00! – but truly delicate and lovely. Seven lapis lazuli stones strung in an intricate silver setting. I had to have it. Had to. I ordered. Two weeks later, it arrived from India. I opened it and it was just as lovely as had been pictured. However, the clasp was of the toggle variety. A tricky little thing that could make putting on a bracelet more complicated than necessary. Oh, well. The bracelet was still too pretty to pass up.

I attempted to put it on. 15 minutes later, I was still attempting. It was becoming a ridiculous, expletive-ridden struggle. I wanted my money back, and wrote to the seller telling him so. He could only offer 50% refund and told me to keep the bracelet. Deal. But I could not rest. After all, toggles have been fastening jewelry for millennia. Surely Cleopatra knew how to work it. Why couldn’t I? There had to be an answer. 

Seeking wisdom, I visited the Dalai Lama of modern life’s mysteries: I went to YouTube. Sure enough, there was a demonstration unlocking the secret of this enigmatic doo-dad: “Let gravity do its work.” Aha! I carefully followed the pointers when...Eureka! I did it! I solved the mystery! I was overjoyed. I immediately wrote the seller, telling him to forget the refund. “I LOVE THIS BRACELET!!!” I told him, just to make him happy. “Very good, Kind Buyer,” he replied. “Now I could retire.”

But that wasn't the end of it. Oh, noooo. Like “A Christmas Story’s” Ralphie with his Red Ryder bb gun, I couldn’t wait to play with the bracelet. Over and over, I practiced The Toggle. It kept working like a charm. Finally I put it away, and went about my business for the rest of the day. Then, right before I went to bed, I wanted to play with the bracelet just one more time, ignoring one of my husband Ken’s oft repeated axioms, “Never do anything technical after 8:00pm.” (One night, after 8pm, I upgraded the software on my iPhone. Big mistake.) This wasn’t a technical matter per se, but the axiom still applied. Nevertheless, I put the bracelet on. Nice! I then proceeded to take it off, when...oh, no. The toggle wouldn’t budge. Wait, what??? It went on so easily! Why can’t I unlock it? I pushed. I pulled. I twisted. I started breaking into a sweat. 

It is now 2:00 am. Alone in the living room, working under a 60 watt bulb for the last hour, I managed to contort my hand into a claw-like pincer and was able to roll the bracelet off, providing a bit of relief. But still, I couldn’t unlock the blasted thing. Imagine an anchor being caught between two parallel iron bars. It seemed near impossible to undo. I was beside myself.

The whole thing started taking on a symbolism of nonsensical proportions. All night I was tossing and turning. It’s stuck. I’m stuck. In my dreams. In the city. In a lyric. In life. Every time I look at another piece of jewelry, I’ll forever be reminded of how stupid I was, not leaving a good thing alone. I had to keep playing with the bracelet after hours, didn’t I. When I should have just gone to bed. I’m such an idiot. 

Naturally, Ken is getting the brunt of all this. But sage that he is, he remained calm, simply stating, “Let it go. It’ll happen. It’s geometry.” It’s true, I thought. The hypotenuse of it, or whatever, will somehow work itself out. I started to make peace with the situation. At least I could roll the bracelet on and off and, wanting to put a good spin on it, thought maybe the fact that the lock was so intertwined, symbolized our marriage. Us. Together. Intertwined -- in a good way. I could live with that.

Two more days pass. In the wee hours of the second night, I woke up with a start. For some reason unknown, I decided to fiddle with the bracelet one more time. I took the bracelet out of my jewelry box, went to the living room, turned on the lamp and started to push the toggle. I’ve no idea of what I did differently or how it happened, but suddenly the lock released, and snakelike, the bracelet cascaded down into one straight, glorious strand. My jaw, quite literally, dropped. Staring at it in disbelief, I was utterly in shock. Geometry! It was like witnessing Houdini suddenly break loose from his labyrinth of chains. It was magical. 

The impossible was possible after all.

Believe it or not, I somehow knew this would turn out right. Because in some way, looking back, the whole incident was kind of like the process of writing, when we get stuck sometimes. We become obsessed and overwrought. How do we get out of it? Three lessons:

1. Let it go. Talk a walk. Take a nap. Walk the dog. Wash the dishes. When you least suspect it, without knowing how or why, the answer will cascade down from the heavens. 

2. Calmly say to yourself, “It will happen.” Then leave it at that. That simple phrase puts a positive wave out there, opening the path for your mind, your gift to come through. Always. 

3. Never do anything technical after 8:00pm.

Bracelets. Writing. It’s all magical.

-- Laura Stigler