“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results”—Albert Einstein. It doesn’t take a genius to know that. I mean, I know that. Not that it makes any difference once you admit you’re a…(gulp) degenerate tinkerer.
Sure, it starts small. You unclog the sink drain and you think, “Hey, I’m a plumber!” Maybe your spouse praises you and says, “You just saved us $50!” And it goes to your head. Suddenly, you decide to replace that old toilet and, okay, it leaks a little when you’re done—but not that much. So you take it apart and put it back together and it’s fixed. Probably. Why buy an expensive table from the furniture store if you can assemble a kit from Ikea? When you’re finished, nobody needs to know there are a couple of parts left over.
Not long ago, I bought a garden tractor. It was shiny and not very old. And it was cheap. But it didn’t actually run. I thought to myself, “I can fix that.” I’m not a mechanic, but how hard could it be? I watched a couple of YouTube videos on mower repair. I replaced the carburetor, adjusted the valves and gave it a new spark plug, all the while, fanaticizing about my great success, transforming this sad pile of junk into the well-oiled machine it was meant to be. I’d be a hero.
After three days of skinning my knuckles, fumbling for a lock washer, lodged behind a heat shield and accidently spraying myself in the face with brake cleaner—twice– I was ready to fire up my bargain mower. While, I admit, it didn’t run—at least in the traditional sense– it did sputter in a very encouraging manner. Not a win exactly. But certainly, I was on the right track. Did my mower need a new coil? Or maybe it had a blown head gasket. How about new valves? A complete overhaul? I could get a shop manual for it and new tools. I could start all over again. My luck might change. Just one more roll of the dice!
Suddenly I realized I had a problem. Like a degenerate gambler who can’t stop placing bets, I was a degenerate tinkerer. Instead of spending money, I was squandering my time. But how do you know you have a tinkering addiction? Well, there are signs.
• You know you’re a degenerate tinkerer when you can’t start a repair without your “lucky” wrench. And you give it a name. (I call mine “Dave”).
• You find yourself negotiating with the “mechanics gods” that if they bail you out of this one mess, you will never ask for anything else again.
• You promise your kids you will take them to the park when you know deep down you will be replacing the dishwasher pump instead.
• You realize tinkering fills your pathetic need for validation, in spite of your lack of skill, training or history of success.
• Loved ones remark on your physical and mental decline as the result of hours futilely spent crouched in awkward, painful and ridiculous positions.
Tinkering addiction can be controlled. Practice setting limits. Fix the front lock and stop before you remove the door from the hinges. Leave serious repairs to professionals. Tinkering is your recreation, not your sacred duty. And remember, stuff breaks, nothing stays fixed forever. The house always wins.
Living in Iowa: Confessions of a compulsive tinkerer
May 25, 2023