The Lens:
My husband was complaining . . . again. Seems the sailboat he, my son, and my son’s friend own needs engine repair. We are the epitome of DIYers – a by-product of spending too many years worrying about a buck and my husband being far too handy.
Instead of just buying a new motor (expensive), he thinks he and our son can take out the motor, do the repair and put it back. It won’t necessarily be cheap, but it will be a lot cheaper than a new motor.
In the mid 2000’s, our new driver son bought a 1985 Toyota truck. We didn’t really have the money to buy a car for him, but we came across this deal (in other words, really cheap) and put up half the cost so our son could buy it. My son probably could have managed without a car of his own, but it sure made life easier for all of us.
A couple of years later, he took the truck to college with him. When he could afford a real car after graduation, the truck passed to his younger brother. Not surprisingly, during these years, the truck with over well-over 200,000 miles on it needed an engine rebuild.
My husband and son took on the challenge of rebuilding the engine themselves. For quite some time, it took my car’s space in the garage, and our house smelled like an auto repair shop. Still, they were successful and managed to eke out a few more years of use before we decided to take it to the “tired” center (that is, we turned in to the state for the cash).
So, there is a precedent that says they can do this.
I am at the point where I don’t care so much about the money. I should. We may be comfortable but not that comfortable. But, I don’t care.
And, then, what is time worth? We have lots of other projects needing attention.
Most importantly, though, what is our sanity worth? The complaining now is nothing compared to what it will be once the work begins. I may not be doing the work myself, but I will hear all of the moaning and groaning about it for the duration.
Now that I am done complaining about this, I want to acknowledge this is a stupid thing to get all in a tizzy about.
I read an advice columnist recently where a writer complained about having to boil water for a few days due to a pipe problem in their area. Her neighbor, an immigrant, agreed that yes, it was a pain. Her mother had to boil water for their family until she was a preteen and they got plumbing.
The writer put the experience into prospective and now says she asks herself if her problems are real problems or first world problems.
The boat is most definitely a first world problem.
The Refraction:
In my “Go All the Way” post, I talk about the motorcycle my husband bought against my wishes. We still have the damn thing. And, I still hate it.
When we started dating, my husband had friends with sailboats and we would go sailing with them. Sailing was not my cup of tea, but my husband was in heaven. Throughout the years, my husband had coveted getting a sailboat of his own.
I had always put my foot down on this one. This was just another expensive toy we didn’t need. It was a luxury we simply could not afford.
So, how did it happen that it was me who not only suggested but encouraged buying the boat? Here’s what happened.
Our oldest son and his friend, upon graduating from college, decided they wanted to sail. At first, their idea was to take sailing lessons, then rent sailboats when they wanted to go out.
Through their research, they found it would be rather expensive to rent boats, so decided just to buy one of their own.
My son, like me, is very practical. He and his friend came up with what they could afford to spend on a boat. Their funds, even pooled, were limited to say the least. He was still living at home, paying off student loans, when the boat acquisition process was taking place.
He’d excitedly show me pictures of boats within budget. My first question was usually, “Does it float??”
“It just needs a little work,” would be his answer.
Horrified, I turned to my husband.
“You know that sailboat you always wanted? Here is your chance.”
I suggested my husband become a third partner in the boat. I said I didn’t care how much it cost us (and I meant it). Just buy something that won’t sink.
My son was an adult. I didn’t feel it was my place to try to talk him out of buying a boat. We couldn’t beat him, so we joined him.
I still think the boat is a luxury we shouldn’t have. But, unlike the motorcycle, I accept we own it. I very willingly live with the carping about the first world problem of spending money on a sailboat I don’t really want that needs repair.