Getting fixed

I was fortunate to get a life lesson from a woman whom I deeply respect and admire as she explained the secret for sustaining 40+ years of marriage.

Paraphrasing, she said she and her husband are children of an era where, when things were damaged or broken, they didn’t turn and run – they fixed them.

Sage advice. 

As I continue to navigate the middle ages, I find myself learning the value of fixing things. I’m blessed to live a life overflowing with things that don’t require fixing and if you’re a regular patron of these (mostly) weekly rants, you probably have a good idea what those things are. However, like many of you, I have things in life’s attic that every now and then require a few turns of the wrench and a couple of squirts of WD-40. 

In my youth, fixing things wasn’t a priority. I would run from making necessary repairs faster than a Kardashian running to a photo opp. Now, fewer than 24 months away from 50 years, I’m finally starting to see the value in fixing things. 

Better late than never! 

With age, I’ve learned that often, fixing things is about making minor, fine adjustments. Fixing things isn’t always about swinging a hammer at a problem like Ty Pennington on a caffeine jag. 

These days you will often find me, sleeves rolled up, reaching into my (knock off, purchased on Canal St.) Kate Spade handbag of tricks, fumbling for just the right tool as I labor to fix what’s broken. 

It’s a work in progress. 

P.S. Of course, patience can only go so far. Sometimes that which is broken may be busted beyond all repair – leaving one no choice but to toss that which is busted out to make room for something new. 

P.P.S The next time we chat, I promise to ease off on the philosophy and get back to talking about less heady topics.

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