When I worked in Silicon Valley, there was a common trend I noticed when people would introduce new companies/concepts to somebody unfamiliar; they would use existing companies to describe the concept. For example – “It’s like the Slack of Amazon and Ebay” meaning, it’s a cross-channel communication platform that allows users to have a centralized messaging dashboard for multiple eCommerce channels.
There’s a million-dollar idea, if you want to run with it…
When familiarity isn’t present, association is a useful tool to help somebody understand something that’s otherwise foreign.
There’s something else that I’ve noticed recently, and it’s that as you gain understanding of one thing, further understanding comes about others. For example, when I started playing music again, I started seeing life through a more ‘musical’ spectrum; understanding that not every note needs to be played at the same time – and tempo/pacing is critical in many situations that live outside of music.
Human emotions are one great example of this. Happiness isn’t a single note that’s played over and over again. Rather, it’s complex song that comes with highs, lows and even crecendos throughout the ‘score’. If you’ve ever had the privilege of attending a life musical orchestra, you’ll have a better understanding of what I mean by this.
This past week, I received some new parts for the 944 and attempted to put them on. Some went better than others. However, none of them went on right away – or in the time that a skilled mechanic could have installed them.
One of these parts was a small set of silicone plugs for the rear hatch pins; the part that keeps the back window/hatch shut. Over time, these parts detriorate and need to be replaced. Without them, the back hatch is prone to popping open while you’re driving – something that’s been happening to me ever since I got the 944.
Shortly after getting the 944, I adjusted the back pins well enough for them to stay shut. However, I knew that eventually I’d need to replace the small rubber/sillicone part inside of them, because the ‘fix’ I did left a small slit open in the back hatch, rendering the car impossible to drive with the windows down. Why? Because it would suck exhaust fumes into the car. As a result, I’ve had to keep the windows closed in order to pressurize the car and keep the fumes out.
Once I got the replacement part(s) in, I was eager to install them. What was called a ‘simple installation’ came with one huge caveat; the parts were held in place by a tiny plastic latch that needed finese in order to be removed – otherwise it would snap and that part would be ruined.
Well aware of this, I did everything within my power to understand the correct way of releasing the pin, because I didn’t want it to snap. Everything in me wanted to simply jam a flathead screwdriver into the pin lock and force it open. I knew if I did that, I’d be much worse off then when I started.
Due to the location of the pins, I had to take regular breaks because working on it for any longer than a few minutes at a time would stress out my back, and I didn’t want to throw it out. Then I’d really be worse off than when I started. So, I spread out my efforts over the period of several days and patiently did my best to figure out out.
This evening, I was able to get the right visual on the pin, and was confident that I’d be able to pop it out with a tiny flathead. With a satisfying “click” it popped open. Five minutes later, the new sillicone plug was installed and I was content to call it a night.
This experience taught me a lot. Even if I had spent $200 on a replacement hatch pin receiver, I’d still have to go through the same pin-removal process. Instead, I spent $29 on new sillicone plugs, cleaned the part thoroughly with brake cleaner, and gave it a healthy dose of lithium grease (per instructions online) and was able to restore the orignal part to near-perfect working order.
Why do I bring up this story? Because it goes back to associations.
In some instances, it’s worth it to throw in the towel and hire somebody else to fix your messes. I wouldn’t try to replace my clutch (yet).
In other instances, it’s easier to throw in the towel and quit on the part that was meant to be in the proverbial car. However, the ‘new part’ will never be the same as the one you threw away, and you’ll always wonder if you made a mistake in discarding the ‘original part’ for a replacement.
Atlas does this remarkably cute thing where he takes twist-ties and bends them into shapes for me. Each time, he comes to me with a big smile on his face and says “Dad, I made you a gift.” On the mantel of my kitchen window is a growing collection of these ‘gifts’ and each one is priceless to me.
Were somebody to offer me an expensive diamond for one of these ‘gifts’ I wouldn’t hesitate to turn them down. Why? Because the value of the diamond isn’t worth the value of the ‘gift’ Atlas made for me – his Dad. Four year-olds don’t yet have an understanding of monetary value – rather, he would simply see that his Dad traded in the gift he spent time making for me, for a shiny rock.
The older I get, the more I see the importance of things, moments and memories that hold value for nobody but their beholder and the ones they shared them with.
“I like this one best.”
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