Back when Todd was a vet student and we had baby Andrew, I felt that I needed to get a job to supplement our student loans. Working turned out to be one of the biggest regrets of my life, but at the time I couldn’t see another clear option. It was 1996, and so we didn’t even use email; the only thing I used our computer for was to write letters. So working in those days, as far as I could tell, meant going to an actual job or selling things from home. So I tried Discovery Toys and then Mary Kay. Both were nightmares. I hated trying to be a salesperson, I thought the products were way too expensive and almost completely unnecessary, I hated leaving Todd and Andrew, I avoided calls from my coaches, and I gave away more product than I sold. I still have many of the toys from the Discovery Toys $100 start-up pack, so that wasn’t the worst. But Mary Kay encouraged us to keep a hefty inventory, so I invested $1000 to get started. It took little to no time for me to admit it was all a mistake. But thankfully, they had a contingency plan for those like me who wanted to opt out. We could sell our product back for 90% of what we paid for it, which is what I did. As a consequence, I would never be allowed to sell Mary Kay again. Which was perfect with me.
But I felt awful. We lived on $1000 a month back in those days. Our student loan checks for living expenses were about $4,000 a semester; so that was a substantial amount of money I’d used for this experiment. I am still embarrassed about it, and I of course wish I had just been true to what I know about myself (ie selling is the last thing I want to do), but at the time I felt desperate to stay home with my baby and it was all I could think of that I could do; I would try anything in order to be with him. And so I have this mark, this error, on my record and I wasted a ton of money and time trying to make these enterprises work.
But I eventually decided to relabel this and so many other “experiences,” mishaps, or mistakes as part of my continuing education. Just like we’ve all paid hundreds and thousands of dollars for tuition throughout our college years, I feel like my post-collegiate days are still demanding something akin to tuition, and I’m paying it. But I’m settling into the idea because life’s lessons unavoidably continue outside the classroom. I’m constantly doing chemistry experiments within my home’s kitchen. I’m writing and erasing and reconstructing essays, letters, notes, explanations, and blogs over and over and over. I’m flailing at real-life math as I find myself being wasteful and overspending. I’m still struggling to figure out the events of history and am grateful we don’t have graded fill-in-the-map exams anymore (although I like to test myself on the computer when no one’s around). I just find that real life isn’t all that different from college, and so renaming my mistakes, refiling them in my head under continuing ed, assuages my guilt a little, but mostly permits me to accept that I’m simply still learning on the daily.
Just this week I was using a frozen ham bone from Christmas. But I started on our split pea soup a little late. So of course I simply turned up the heat to speed things up. But as Todd came home from work and checked the pot, we realized all the water had been eaten up and I’d burned the pot black, along with the contents. So we had eggs with our homemade bread instead. I felt so embarrassed, I know better. I should’ve started much sooner (but I hate cooking and am always procrastinating), and I already knew we all hate ham soup. I was just trying to be healthy and to use up the ham bone, wasting vegetables and split peas and ruining our dinner in the process. But I gave myself grace and let it go.
I was hasty as I was unpacking more items for the cabin’s kitchen. We had so very much to do in a short weekend window, so I just pulled the crockpot out of its packaging only to hear it immediately shatter all over the kitchen tile. I was again so embarrassed, mad at myself, and so disappointed. Not only had I wasted our money, I was trying to make French Dip for us that night and was annoyed I’d ruined our plans. But I told myself in any building or making project, there is excess, there is overage, scraps are a given. It’s not unreasonable for us to waste a little in the process of building a cabin. Sigh. But this was a completely unnecessary expense. I didn’t have to tell Todd what had happened, the whole house heard it. But I did tell him how sorry I was and how ashamed I felt, to which he told me he’d had the workers order a whole new sliding glass door handle set for $170 simply because they couldn’t find the original one in all the mess. He showed me the one we had found, in a mashed up box, a little too scratched to return, just wasted.
We’ve done that so many times with the cabin. Not just a $30 crockpot or even $170 door handle. We’ve had to get rid of couches we thought would work but are completely wrong no matter how we’ve tried to make them work in different rooms and both our house and the cabin. I accidentally ordered a leather loveseat when I thought I’d ordered a navy one. How do we return that mistake? We’ve lost or returned all the shower curtains, I can’t remember; so we’ve been showering without them when we’ve gone and I just ordered all new ones. The eight lovely bar stools we got over a year ago are so sturdy and nice looking, but as we put them together, we realized how awful they look with everything else. We might switch them out with our home ones because I dislike them there so much. The tile in the showers clashes with the tile we chose for the bathroom floors, which grates on me every time I see them, but there’s no way to undo all that. Although we did at one point have our workers tear out showers with tile we thought we liked but that turned out all wrong. So much waste. But I tell myself, we’re amateurs. It’s so hard for us to know how things will all look together, and we’re over four hours away, we can’t just pop in and check. So we’ve made a lot of mistakes and wasted a ton of money. And yet, we realize that’s just the cost of building and learning, and so we move on.
I’ve bought a lot of clothes over the years that I’ve eventually donated. Usually thrifted items that I bought on a whim, but sometimes not. I remember years ago just wanting a high-quality sweatshirt, just one good sweatshirt I could have for many years. I’d bought others from my alma mater, but they got stretched out, the fuzz faded, a zipper broke, one is too tight so I never wear it. I thought it I could just find the right one, I could finally be free from sweatshirt problems. So I did my research and found one with all the good reviews. It was nearly $100, which is crazy for me. And I was so excited when it came. Except it was awful. The color was a dull gray (which I chose because I thought it would be versatile and neutral), thin with no fluff, and very, very durable (ie stiff). I hated it. But I tried to adopt it and like it, like an arranged marriage. I resented it every time I had to wear it. But because it was so expensive, I felt obligated to. For like a year. Finally, I just got so annoyed with my mistake I decided to get rid of it and just admit it wasn’t working. Thankfully, I thought of a young friend who is more into rugged outdoor wear than I am, and she took it. I hope she is truly loving it.
I’ve also altered several items, hoping to make them work a little better. I’ve bought trim that I’ve added to the bottoms of skirts and dresses to make them a little longer, some have worked, some were kind of a flop. I’ve cut off jeans, some I’ve used, others I accidentally/hastily made too short. I’ve even cut the neckline of a sweatshirt. I bought two pairs of grandma flannel pajama pants at an estate sale, so vintage and sweet but all stretched out. So I got some elastic and replaced their waistbands… but they just weren’t good. I hadn’t realized at the time how worn and stained they were. Sadly, I gave them away.
I also have shoes I’ve spent good money on that I just don’t love… I’m not sure what inspired or motivated me.
And of course I’ve had my share of crafty sewing projects, pillows I hand stitched but that I finally gave away because I didn’t like the fabrics after a few years. I’m in the middle of a quilt I think I’ll also give away, a different technique I tried that I’m not in love with. I’ve donated many an unfinished project to thrift stores with confidence that a more skilled crafter will come along, see the potential, and take them to their true level of beauty.
I had the uncanny ability to buy books that I end up hating. There have only been a handful of books I’ve bought that I’ve truly liked. Every now and then I’ll buy one at the real price for book group. I have only ever liked one (and it was a used copy now that I think about it). It is so weird and so typical that I have learned to only buy thrifted books or to use library books; I don’t trust myself.
Were these experiences, supplies, clothes, fabrics, ingredients, and dollars wasted? I’ve taught myself to think of them differently. Sometimes I wonder if I was just the middle man. Maybe it was perfect that we were able to give our friend a couple of couches or a hearty, built-to-last sweatshirt or a new blanket that I’d gotten for a great deal and toted around for years but always hated or the bathmat I thought we’d like at the cabin that looked awful. Maybe that’s how I’ve learned to cook, because I’ve been making flops for over forty years. How else am I going to know if a recipe is one I want to keep unless I try it?
I just think of it all like college. We spent money on the opportunity to go to class. We bought text books, calculators and other tools and supplies (like when I took a sewing class). We spent time reading. We got back tests we didn’t do that great on. I even took a class over once.
I remember when I had little kids at home feeling guilty for leaving them for a week when we’d go to Todd’s continuing ed vet conferences. And even more so when I’d go away to Education Week or read just for fun. But I reframed that guilt and decided this was my continuing ed. This was my conference, these were my text books, the fabrics are my class supplies, the time I watch videos on how to make bread or sew are my lectures. My exercise time is my p.e. My lunch break is just as necessary now as it was when I was a student. My part-time jobs then were to slice bread and give campus tours; now they’re painting the house or weeding the garden. But I still need time to study. :)
I just love how easy it is to let things go (after a moment of grief or upset) by simply using this reframe. I am amazed—absolutely astounded—at how many mistakes I make, how much I waste, and the kinds of flops I’m a part of. And yet, I’m learning to just switch it all up in my mind and just call them all by a different name. For some reason, that’s made all the difference. I’m less anxious about what will inevitably go wrong in a day and tell myself I’m simply still learning.
