For most of my life, I'm ashamed to admit that I've been afraid. Not of dogs, or bees, or death or even clowns.
No, I've been afraid of doing most household repairs myself. Sure, I've changed a lightbulb, painted a room or two and even power sanded hardwood floors.
But when I contemplate a leaking tap or a flickering light, I go into a cold sweat and the weight of my overwhelming incompetence consumes me. Pipes and wires are arcane mysteries - only the initiated, the masters, the professionals should touch them.
Every time something went wrong with the plumbing, I thought, "Could I do this myself?". Then a series of named dreads filled me; the dread of failure, the dread of disaster, the dread of flooding my entire house, and then paying more for someone else to clean it up.
So I would reluctantly call the plumber: "£200? Sure, sounds reasonable."
That was before.
Recently, the hot water tap in my bathroom stopped working - no hot water. What to do?
One of the tenets of Stoicism is doing things that cause you discomfort, in order to better deal with that discomfort. The discomfort can be physical, or it can be mental. My goal of independence told me I should fix the tap myself - not only would I save money, I would learn to be more self-reliant. The only thing holding me back was the fear.
With my left hand I gripped the fear and held it motionless; with my right I researched how to replace a tap on the interweb. From a variety of sites and YouTube videos, I pieced together a list of parts and tools I would need, and put an order in at Screwfix.
The next day was an emotional roller coaster. After having cheerfully sawn through the rusted bolts and pulled out the old tap and fittings, I began to doubt myself. "Who do I think I am? Certainly not a plumber. I should admit defeat and call in a professional."
You can probably guess from the story arc that I didn't admit defeat or call in a professional. Instead, I persevered, learned something about plumbing and now have a working hot water tap with even fancier tap heads than before.
Let's look at the balance sheet:
Costs:
No, I've been afraid of doing most household repairs myself. Sure, I've changed a lightbulb, painted a room or two and even power sanded hardwood floors.
But when I contemplate a leaking tap or a flickering light, I go into a cold sweat and the weight of my overwhelming incompetence consumes me. Pipes and wires are arcane mysteries - only the initiated, the masters, the professionals should touch them.
 |
| No, not that kind of Cold Sweat... |
Every time something went wrong with the plumbing, I thought, "Could I do this myself?". Then a series of named dreads filled me; the dread of failure, the dread of disaster, the dread of flooding my entire house, and then paying more for someone else to clean it up.
So I would reluctantly call the plumber: "£200? Sure, sounds reasonable."
That was before.
Recently, the hot water tap in my bathroom stopped working - no hot water. What to do?
One of the tenets of Stoicism is doing things that cause you discomfort, in order to better deal with that discomfort. The discomfort can be physical, or it can be mental. My goal of independence told me I should fix the tap myself - not only would I save money, I would learn to be more self-reliant. The only thing holding me back was the fear.
With my left hand I gripped the fear and held it motionless; with my right I researched how to replace a tap on the interweb. From a variety of sites and YouTube videos, I pieced together a list of parts and tools I would need, and put an order in at Screwfix.
The next day was an emotional roller coaster. After having cheerfully sawn through the rusted bolts and pulled out the old tap and fittings, I began to doubt myself. "Who do I think I am? Certainly not a plumber. I should admit defeat and call in a professional."
You can probably guess from the story arc that I didn't admit defeat or call in a professional. Instead, I persevered, learned something about plumbing and now have a working hot water tap with even fancier tap heads than before.
Let's look at the balance sheet:
Costs:
- Basin Wrench (£15)
- Vise-grip (£9)
- New faucet and parts (£50)
- Time, including research and shopping: 5 hours
- Temporary frustration and sore fingers
Benefits:
- Saved Plumber Costs: estimated at £50
- New, better faucet
- New skill learned and increased self-reliance
- Tools and parts to do other plumbing jobs
- Sense of accomplishment
- Fear conquered
That night I started making a list of all the other projects that, previously, I had put off because they would cost too much.
As Dwight would say:
As Dwight would say:
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