Scheduled Maintenance

I was born to be an engineer.

The way a border collie lights up at the sight of sheep, I light up at the sight of anything with screws.

My parents eventually had to start hiding the screwdrivers. They learned the hard way that if a VCR blinked the wrong way or a toy car made a suspicious clicking noise, I would consider it an open invitation to perform exploratory surgery. I didn’t set out to destroy things—if anything, I wanted to fix them. But I have to confess: my efforts often left behind a minor trail of destruction..

Ultimately, I had the good fortune of spending most of my career as an engineer, which only fueled my love of troubleshooting. Few things compare to the ridiculous, disproportionate satisfaction of being handed a broken widget and walking away with it humming again. In my head, I got to be a hero. Not the cape-wearing kind. More the thick-glasses, pocket-protector, graphing-calculator-wielding kind. A hero nonetheless.

But somewhere along the way, I realized the machine I spent the least time troubleshooting was myself. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate that my body could use some maintenance too. I figure if you spend 47 years running a system, you can expect to hear an odd rattle or two. For the most part, my body is still running smoothly, but I recognize that some things are starting to fall apart. And while I’m not exactly in need of an engine rebuild, a tune-up seems wise. Maybe even overdue.

Taking care of myself—physically, mentally, emotionally—feels a little like routine maintenance now. Oil changes instead of emergency repairs. It’s less glamorous than swooping in with a solution and a self-satisfied grin, but it’s probably the more heroic thing in the long run.

I still feel (and hopefully look) much younger than what my age seems to suggest. I’m hoping that if I keep taking care of myself, keep taking it in to the ‘shop’ for regular tune-ups, there’ll be many more years of smooth, trouble-free driving ahead.