David B., my wonderful website and graphic designer called on Monday to tell me that my project would be a bit late. His car brakes went out while on a road trip to attend his goddaughter’s commencement. After packing up the car late in the evening, in anticipation of an early morning and 15 hour drive the next day, he was moving the car when the brake pedal went all the way to the floor.
Our suitcase waiting to be repaired by a team of specialist.
One of the first things he said was thank goodness it happened the night before rather than the next morning when they were on the road. He was also grateful to be in a place where he could stay while waiting for a garage to tow the car and get it fixed.
Unexpectedly stuck, he needed to get on his computer and work. He needed an internet connection. But before he could find a local coffee shop, he needed to fix the brakes on his goddaughter’s bicycle, his new mode of transportation.
As we talked, he shared that he felt so alive. The surprise of spending extra days in Michigan and having to figure out several pieces of logistics proved to be stimulating, fun even. Our conversation reminded me of a thought I had been pondering last week. My interior dialogue hypothesized that we as humans like to fix things. There is an undeniable satisfaction from figuring out how to put something together (IKEA furniture not included) or solving a problem.
The ubiquitous presence of Google and AI has removed much of our hands on ‘fixing’. Remember when the Thomas Guide or AAA was the resource for finding your way? Or the library held a wealth of knowledge that required you to physically look for materials, perhaps ask a librarian for assistance. My grandfather’s work bench once filled with parts from the vacuum machine or juicer would be gathering dust because our Dyson is plastic and like a small computer, only meant to be repaired by a trained and certified technician.
What are we doing with all our ‘free’ time?
Fixing ourselves?
The incredible popularity of self-improvement offerings suggests that our desire to fix has turned inward. I can relate. I definitely have felt broken and in need of repair. However, when I have approached my brokenness as something to fix, I usually end up feeling worse. Unlike the car brakes or the vacuum, people are not meant to be fixed. We are meant to be understood. Through the process of gentle inquiry, we can approach self-awareness and understanding which is just as satisfying as finding your way to a coffee shop in an unfamiliar town, if not more so.