The first shake of that cheap plastic jar felt like a gamble, not a solution. I stepped out into the storm, boots slipping on glassy ice, and scattered the coarse salt in a trembling, uneven trail behind each tire. The wind knifed through my coat as I climbed back in, heart pounding harder than the engine. When the tires caught and the car heaved free, it felt like the world snapped back into motion—not because of luck, but because of a tiny choice to try one more thing.
Now that jar is more than winter gear; it’s a reminder. A reminder that we’re rarely as stuck as we feel, that answers often live inches from our fingers, waiting for us to notice. I still fear the skid, the storm, the unknown road ahead. But tucked by my feet is proof that sometimes, the smallest tool can change the whole story.
