Relative Something

There was a period in my life when I figured out that every project/task/repair includes an unwelcome difficulty that arises to complicate things.

• A stripped screw head.
• Rusted bolt that won’t turn.
• Drill bit breaks off while drilling.
• Tap breaks while cutting threads.
• Unable to locate a missing tool.

When I figured out this was such a common situation that it was almost an integral truth to DIY efforts, I tried to adjust my attitude to avoid being triggered into a temper tantrum when problems crop up. If I convinced myself to expect that something would inevitably foil my plan for a smooth flow to a desired outcome, I could simply frame it as another step in the series toward completing whatever I was working on. It made it a lot less anger-inducing.

It turns out that this idea of an inevitable “fly-in-the-ointment” is not accurate. Unfortunately, that presents a new psychological struggle for me to process.

On Wednesday, the multiple errands I ran in succession before my reunion planning meeting went off without a hitch. I actually arrived at the restaurant half an hour early.

Yesterday morning was cool and dry, so I decided to try the riding mower first thing. After about 5 minutes, the overtemp sensor tripped off the PTO. I drove the mower back to the shop garage, put it up on a ramp, and swapped out the blade motor with the new replacement I picked up on Wednesday. The fix was quick and happened without any difficulties.

We had technicians show up to install our new dehumidifier, and I took a break from mowing to check on them, showing up just in time to confirm he had it oriented opposite of what we planned. As he described his intentions for the rest of the job, it sounded like a better setup than the salesman had proposed.

My luck was on a roll.

We had the guests from Sweden coming to visit, and I really wanted to finish the mowing before they arrived. The combination of switching back and forth between the push mower on the labyrinth and steep parts of the yard and then the riding mower for the rest, while the other machine’s batteries charged, worked out to a tee.

I completed all the mowing with time to spare.

This presents me with a challenge: It is not in my nature to accept such good fortune without trepidation. I am waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I also struggle with feeling undeserving of so much trouble-free success. How did I get so lucky?

We are strongly hoping our quick transplant of the trillium plants from Hayward will be viable and that they will thrive in this new location. 48 hours later, the once droopy transplants are standing tall and looking as happy as can be.

Could it really be possible that focusing on positive outcomes and the practice of holding expectations that things will play out flawlessly produces actual results?

Honestly, I believe it can. I just find it hard to believe that I might be pulling it off.

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