Life Skills & Cheap Thrills

By Jillian Owens 

 

I like to think I’m a creative problem solver…a fixer.

It would probably be more accurate to say I’m just more than slightly obsessed with diy-ing my way out of anything I possibly can as a result of an an oddly directed egoism. Sometimes I make and fix things for the sake of being the kind of person who can make and fix things.

There have been times when I’ve taken the DIY lifestyle too far. By now most of you know I make or refashion most of my clothes. But I’ve also replaced by own brakes and I’ve administered my own keratin treatments. I even used to cut my own hair. I’ve gotten many “What are you doing now?”s when reaching into the toolbox at work and I’ve spent hours on home repairs as a renter that any normal person would call their landlord to fix.

Saying something like, “She’s the kind of woman who brags about not being able to cook,” would be extremely insulting to me.

When I bought my house, I first looked out upon the ½ acre hill it sits on and thought, “Muahaha! This is now mine! I am a land baroness!”

This thought was immediately followed by, “Oh Good God…I have to mow this. This isn’t going to go well.”

 

I’m in trouble.

 

My friends rolled their eyes at my insistence at maintaining my yard entirely by myself rather than hiring someone to at least cut the grass.  At least for the summer when the heat and humidity in SC makes just walking outside feel like walking into the sweaty armpit of a giant.

Intense research followed. Electric or Gas (Gas)? Was it worth it paying more for a self-propelled one (Hell yes!)? Two-wheel drive or four (Go big or go home.)? Was it worth it to just buy a riding lawnmower (No. You can’t afford to go that big.)?

 

Ah yes. This will be sufficient.

 

When a good friend helped me load my new mower out of his truck and into my garage, I was thrilled, which made no sense. Nothing fun was ever actually going to happen that involved this new purchase. Mowing is a pain. No one enjoys it.

Oh yes. I shall maintain my property. Like a boss.

Or at least like a lower level boss who can’t afford a gardener. You know…a real salt of the earth kind of guy.

It ran for 10 gloriously self-propelled seconds, and then died with a sputtery cough. I looked under it. Nothing. It was alive for a brief moment, and that moment had passed. Rest in peace, Husqvarna.

My friend returned to my garage, agreed that my new mower was indeed dead and went with me to return it and purchase a new one.  When he left, I was stoked. I had overcome adversity and was ready to take on whatever came at me (or at least ½ acre of it). I pulled the cord, and nothing happened. Nothing kept happening every time I tried to start it. I kept trying until I nearly passed out from exhaustion…Googling “troubleshoot lawn mower” between increasingly desperate attempts. Nothing.

No.

Later that week, my car refused to start. And I couldn’t fix it. I looked under the hood as if I knew what I was looking at. I didn’t.

No. Nononono.

What the what? I had been adulting like a real down-to-earth non-showy boss, but still felt like one of those incompetent informercial people who can’t handle everyday tasks. What happened to those life skills I thought I had?

My car received a reluctant tow to the mechanic. But that mower. That freaking mower.

“You’re not pulling the cord hard enough. Go back and something that’s easier to operate, or just pay someone to mow your lawn,” my friend gently suggested. This was about more than just a lawn now. This was about self-sufficiency, ego and a part of my identity that I wasn’t going to give a lawn guy $60 to take away from me.

After getting back home from the mechanic, I opened the garage door with a flourish. Still in my work clothes, I eyed my opponent warily. “You are not going to beat me. I refuse to be bested by a piece of lawn equipment,” I muttered. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the cord and yanked it with all the force my shaken-but-not-shattered ego possessed.

The engine growled to life. This may sound pathetic, but I was prouder of myself at that moment than when I graduated college. I was the champion of the world…or at least my own yard.

 

Jillian Owens is a writer, marketer, designer, and eco-fashion advocate. When she’s not gallivanting about, she’s busy refashioning ugly thrift store duds into fashionable frocks at ReFashionista.net or creating compelling content for the clients of Riggs Partners, where she works as a digital marketing strategist. She also reviews local theater productions for Jasper Magazine and Onstage Columbia, and is a contributor for The Good Life Blog and The Free Times. Any comments, questions or crude remarks can be directed to [email protected].

 

 

MidlandsLife is published on Fridays on MidlandsBiz.