Read the Manual
I haven’t written for a few weeks. It was exciting to start blogging. To feel the thrill of being read and occasionally liked. And as with so many other fabulous intentions in my life, I began with delighted resolve and then .. got too busy. Too busy to do something that is good for me, too distracted to commit to something that I really enjoy. Ever happen to you?
In my earlier days, a manual was just another voice of authority that I felt compelled to reject. How difficult can it be? Here is a picture, these are the parts, they have got to fit somehow. But as a coach I lean on an informal manual for habit creation. The habit manual contains guidelines like - choose a significant date to start, make it enjoyable, use rewards to motivate and a commitment device to deter slacking, make a public statement to get your community behind you, define a regular time and a place, find a partner to support you in this etc. All good and well, but my personal practice is as shoddy as anyone’s. I decided in February that I would write 2 blogs a week for 6 months and lost the manual when I needed it most.
Talking about manuals, it’s early on Memorial Day. Buck Lake. First time putting our Indian canoe into the water. Peaceful here. Eagles and kingfishers, swallows, a few lone fishermen. Too early for the bugs and mosquitos. My youngest daughter and I taking some one-on-one time. She is in her swimsuit upfront but its still too cool for a dip. Safeway sushi and cherries for breakfast. Pit spitting competition into the water. I win. More folks arriving as we head back to the car. They are laying down picnic blankets and throwing ball in the quiet. Both of us utterly content.
I insert the key to unlock the car and the blaring begins. Headlights flashing. My car alarm, calling out all across Memorial Day, echoing back from the far side of the lake. And it does not stop. George, my 30-year old Jeep, is healthy and loved. Today however, love and shame walk arm in arm. I try everything, especially hiding my face from families who are now hauling their BBQ’s and shifting their blankets to the far side of the rise to escape. I disconnect the battery, the fuses, the hooter, nothing stops the blaring. Each time I think I have this under control, the alarm shatters the peace. YouTube know-alls can’t be reached. The reception is not good enough. AAA turn up and there is nothing they can do. The old guy who used to build submarines takes a look. Beats him. The sympathetic mama with 5 dogs gives me the pity eyebrows. And the beep goes on.
As I consider snipping wires randomly in desperation and calling the scrap yard that dragged my last jalopy out of sight, a pristine manual drops out of the dashboard cubby. The original Jeep Cherokee 1992 Manual. Pages are crisp. It looks like it is right off the press. Virgin. The tow-truck turns into the parking lot. I wave him over. The manual index urgently takes me to Security Features. The alarm is now sounding like a squashed duck. The tow guy starts doing his thing. A paragraph headed 'Alarm Irregularities' says, “turn all door locks to open including hatchback to disarm”. One last try.
And with no more ado, the car is disarmed. Silence reigns.
The tow-man winds in his cable. Polite and curt. I am ok with his disappointment. Really OK!
Lily looks up calmly from her book taking her earplugs out, “Got that sorted dad? I told you we should look at the manual!”
What was I telling you? It’s all about the manual.
