On Not Biting Off More than You Can Chew

Modus Operandi Be Damned

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Without further ado, today’s pocket.

Kam, our beautiful, black lab rescue pup is quasi-officially six months old, I say quasi-officially because dates are never certain with rescues, but one thing is certain for sure, we have entered the teenage phase of puppy life. I work with teenagers. I live with teenagers, and now I have a teenage puppy.

Our teenage puppy does a lot of charming things. He chews my shoelaces while I’m trying to tie them, steals my toilet paper rolls and shreds them all over the bedroom floor. He even christened the new living room rug before I had even finished unrolling it. My favorite Kam quality though happens when we return home; he is so excited to see us, that he can’t quite contain himself. He puts his mouth all over us, and when we shout no, and try to pull his mouth off, an operation which is so much harder than it sounds, he puts it right back on as if to say, “No, you misunderstand, I love you, and I must show you this by eating your arm, your handbag and your favorite sweater all at the same time.” It is a diligent, dedicated, extremely misguided form of devotion.

Kam puts everything in his mouth right now. The other day, he found a giant stick in the garden and immediately set about eating it. He was not deterred by the fact that said stick was larger than him. I couldn’t help but feel a kinship with him for this. I also have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew. (Case in point, in a complete state of overwhelm, I got a puppy.)

In Lessons from Chemistry, written by Bonnie Garmus, the book I’m currently reading, Elizabeth Zott, the novel’s heroine, has a similar modus operandi. Her boyfriend wants her to start rowing with him even though she’s never rowed before and she has no interest or skill in the area nor desire to row. It seems like it would be a no brainer that she would pass on the opportunity, but when he asks her to row with him, she responds, “Women don’t row,” and he knows he’s got her. It is 1960, and Elizabeth Zott is a chemist in a world where she is often mistaken for a secretary not a scientist. “Are you actually saying women can’t row?” he says to her. At four am, the next morning, she wakes up for her first row. We later learn that she can’t swim.

I feel this deeply. In middle school I fought for the right to play field hockey in gym class for the sole reason that girls weren’t allowed to play field hockey.

So when my teenage son and I concocted a crazy idea that we should install a home theater in our living room, swapping out our television for a projector and screen, and I asked around about how we might go about doing such a thing, and all the people I polled said I bet you could do it yourself, you can imagine, I was tempted to believe them. I don’t like to think there is anything I can’t do.

If I had listened to these folks, I might have a better story to share with you this week, something along the lines of the time I slightly electrocuted myself installing the dryer, or the time I flooded the basement installing a garbage disposal, or the time I almost took off my finger in the new leaf shredder. But I have no such story for you this week because this isn’t a story about giving into my MO. This isn’t a story about what happened when I bit off more than I could chew. This is a story about what happened when I didn’t.

“See if you can find places where you are making things harder than you need to,” Adrienne says to me while we do yoga together in the backyard, and I listen. (Yes, I’m referring to Adrienne from Yoga with Adrienne, and yes, she isn’t exactly in my backyard, she’s on You Tube, but bear with me.)

As I move into shavasana, I remember how the last time I installed something in the ceiling, it brought my daughter great joy and me great pride, until the day it most definitely did not, and everything came crashing down. I think about my relationship with specific measurements, and how on more than one occasion I have ordered toddler size things for my very non-toddler age children. And tech, forget it. I’m last in line in my family when it comes to anything TV or internet related. If there was a job posting for a tech savvy job and I applied, I most definitely wouldn’t get it, and if I tried to volunteer, they would also probably tell me, thanks, but no thanks. If I’m being completely honest, my real motivation for the home theater had nothing to do with the home theater. My motivation for the project was that it offered a better aesthetic for the living room. It created a cozier sitting space and allowed me to be closer to the fireplace while sitting on the couch. I was imagining the books I would read, the stories I would write, the tea I would have with friends, not the movies I would watch on the big screen.

So, the only reason I would sign up to install a home theater without professional help would be because someone, one or two random people I polled at work, who perhaps have different relationships with tech and measurements and hardware and hanging things from ceilings than I do or perhaps have no idea what they are talking about, said I could.

Y’all, I’m so pleased to share that I didn’t listen to the rando’s. I listened to myself, and of course, I listened to Adrienne. I always listen to Adrienne. I examined the places where I was making things harder than I needed to, and I found a different way through.

I put a lot of work into the vision and creation of our new and improved space, and I’m proud of it. This wasn’t a fly by night idea. It was a dream Seabass and I shared, that was almost two years in the making. To make this dream come true, I swept, dusted and moved furniture. I found some new pieces to accompany and brighten up things we already had. I found a rug our dog could no longer carry with him all over the house, though he still got me there when he peed on it. I put together furniture, and I enlisted Seabass’ help, allowing him to learn some new skills. I am most proud and grateful though of how the process was relatively painless because I enlisted qualified help. I found a professional to help us carry out our vision, who did excellent work for an incredibly affordable price, someone who applied his amazing skills while respecting the aesthetic and quirks of our 120-year-old house.

I am pleased to report that the new space is even better than I imagined. It is cute, cozy and inviting, the perfect place for snuggling up with an insane dog or family member while reading a book or journaling. It’s also a great place to watch a movie.

I would love to continue this conversation in the comments. What resonates with you? What are you reading these days? Are there places where you too might be making things harder than you need to?