Hi ,
I am not a handyman. I don’t enjoy home improvement projects like laying tile or pouring concrete. The end result always looks crooked and wonky, and I’m certain future homeowners will judge me. Installing a new light fixture inevitably comes with some weird complication that teaches me how junction boxes were different 70 years ago. Upgrading a sink faucet should be simple, but I
always remind myself it’ll take twice as long as I plan — and I’ll end up twice as wet when I’m done. But the absolute worst is the “drop everything and deal with this now” type of problem. My brain simply isn’t wired to descend smoothly — or happily — into DIY hell.
I have a live/work space in San Francisco where I work on art and hang out a couple of days a week. Last Saturday, I planned to quickly drop off some things and head out to visit art galleries and a creepy shop that sells bones and oddities. But as soon as I opened the door, I heard water running in the bathroom.
It was the toilet, which had probably been
running nonstop for three days. I tried jiggling the handle — the foolproof repair for most toilet issues — but this time, it did nothing. Clearly, this required actual attention. The kind that made me sit backward on the toilet, straddle the tank, remove the ceramic lid, and marvel at toilet technology. I reached into the water (perfectly clean, of course, but still unsettling to slosh around in) and started re-familiarizing myself with the toilet’s inner workings. To my surprise, it didn’t have a ballcock (teehee) but one of those newer, ball-less float systems.
The thought crossed my mind to simply turn off the water supply and deal with it later, but I decided to be responsible and scrap my afternoon plans. My
track record with plumbing repairs prepared me for hours of frustration. I ran to the hardware store and picked up the one valve assembly they had. (Are these universal now?) It looked nothing like the one in my tank, and the cashier’s warning — “These aren’t returnable” — only added to my doubt. It felt like he was saying, “You really look like a guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Back at the studio, I drained the tank — mostly onto the floor — and removed the old water fill valve assembly thing. The rubber seal was crumbling, and a broken piece of plastic lay at the bottom of the tank. I guessed this might have had something to do with the problem. Much to my surprise and delight, the new valve assembly screwed easily into place, and I reconnected the water
supply.
Wait, what? This took only half an hour! No leaks! The toilet flushed! The water stopped running! And my day wasn’t ruined after all — I could still enjoy my plans.
I took a moment to revel in my DIY prowess and wondered why I felt so much anxiety about this repair. Reflecting on it, I realized I’ve replaced toilet tank parts at least a half-dozen times in my life. It’s one of the simplest plumbing repairs any homeowner can make. The way a toilet works — with gravity — is quite elegant: there’s not much to it.
Fear is often rooted in ignorance, and ignorance can lead to avoidance. I don’t want to hate the natural challenges of homeownership. Instead, I want to be more intentional each time I face a “crisis,” paying closer attention to what I’m doing and committing it to memory. Too often, I focus solely on completing the task, relegating the practical knowledge to short-term memory, as if I’ll never need it again.
A professional plumber could have fixed that toilet in minutes, knowing all the tricks to avoid mess and frustration. For them, it’s second nature. But this experience reminded me of the comments I get from people who say I “make woodworking look easy.” Well, it is — once you understand the basics: cut wood, shape
wood, assemble wood.
For beginners, woodworking can feel intimidating. Every project seems filled with unknowns and the potential for failure. The fear of messing up can be paralyzing. But over time, that fear fades as you gain familiarity. Woodworking is a process of trial, error, and growth. The beauty of it lies in approaching challenges with curiosity and patience. And if you don’t enjoy it, you can stop. No pressure. No water leaking onto the floor.
Next time you’re in your workshop, embrace the process — even if it feels messy or awkward. Each project teaches you something valuable — not just about the craft, but about your
resilience and creativity.
—Steve
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