Life Lessons from a Broken Kitchen Sink

The faucet in my kitchen broke this weekend. Each time you turn it on, it sprays water–everywhere. And though I instantly thoughtCarie Sherman this type of problem was an emergency, it seems plumbers prioritize things like “major pipe bursts” and “sewer back-ups” over my inability to function properly in my kitchen.

So I’m without a water source in my kitchen.

After more than a few “dammits!,” I realized going to the sink for water was far too much of a reflex for me to remember on my own. I finally resorted to forming an “X” over the sink with painter’s tape–a visual reminder of what’s broken and a pattern I need to change.

Now, being without a kitchen sink–in the grand scheme of life–isn’t such a big deal. It can certainly be filed in the nuisance category. But let’s not underestimate the nuisance either: How many times do you use your kitchen sink every day? I reckon it’s a heckuva a lot more than you realize.

It’s been a few days now (plumber is coming tomorrow–they could have been here sooner but they operate like the cable companies and give you windows of time–and though I work from home I do have other obligations–so tomorrow, it is).

And guess what? This morning, I filled my coffee pot in the bathroom. Without thinking about it. I washed my hands, filled the refrigerator water jug, and the pet dish–all without turning first to my kitchen sink. Of course, I had to give extra thought to walking with full water containers the 10 feet from my bathroom back to the kitchen, but it wasn’t that big of deal. It’s just … different.

Kind of like the changes we’re forced to make when the bigger things in life go wrong. Like lupus. It’s not ideal. It’s not what we hoped for in life. But over time, we adapt. We learn to do things differently.

My sink broke, and I needed Plan B. With lupus, you always have to have a plan. Am I rested enough? Is there a place I can sit? What am I doing the day before? Did I pack Advil and water and comfy shoes?

Using the kitchen sink was a habit. So I had to put a big “X” over it. With lupus, sometimes you have to X over a few things to remind yourself that life has changed. I’ve put Xs over many things, and I’m sure you have, too. From where I sit right now, I can see my pill bottles–my visual reminder that life changed, and I need to take my meds.

But time passes. And today, using the bathroom sink emerged as a habit. Just like many of the changes I was forced to make because of my chronic illness. It’s still not ideal. But it’s certainly not the end of the world.

Life is filled with problems. Your sink will break. Your body will fade or your mind will betray you. Relationships will end.

Sometimes, the best you can do is put an X over it, and move on.




Bring Back the Fanny Pack and Other Lessons from Getting Lost in the Woods

Carie ShermanBy Carie Sherman

The BFF and I recently took a hike. We got lost. Well, not really lost, per se. Let’s just call it misinformed about the direction we had taken. We didn’t have a trail map. We “kinda” remembered the name of the trail we planned to take. And we “kinda” turned a 3-mile hike into 8.

Relax. We were in Castlewood Canyon State Park. We were able to see a physical human establishment for at least half of the hike and never spent more than 30 minutes between other groups of hikers–most of whom were refreshed and beginning their hikes from the various parking lots our trail took us past. And we had plenty of water.

The park does have decent elevation gains. My guess is at least 40,000 feet.

Here’s the best part: I wore a fanny pack. It was awesome. The BFF protested but knew if she took a real stand against my fanny pack I might start reconsidering the helmet I threatened to wear because of an article I’d just read about head injuries. She’s a confident girl and can handle when I’m strange, but she does try to stop me from humiliating myself.

Anyway, chronic pain folks, take note: I always carried a backpack but it kills my back and shoulders, likely due to the terrible hiking posture that one gains when one constantly stares at one’s feet. Turns out, my hips are good for hauling. I wholeheartedly encourage you to come to the darkside. Let’s Bring Back the Fannypack!

Who am I kidding. Fanny packs probably are back, for all I know about fashion and the like.

Anyway. 8 miles. Me. If I had known it would be 8 miles, I never would have started. I haven’t gone that far since 2010. And I didn’t realize it at the time, probably because the sheer elation of not needing to call in a backcountry search party for a day hike just minutes from urban areas, but it was a big deal. I hiked 8 miles. In this body. This body that two weeks ago wouldn’t allow me to lift my arms. As you know, I have an entire blog dedicated to my body failing me.

And here’s a kicker: I could walk the next day. And the day after that. And even the days after that, which were leading up to my period, when typically all hell breaks lose and I move only when forced. My body was…good.

Now, I’m not saying that I’ve cured my mind, body, and soul here. But I learned a valuable life lesson on this hike, and it’s a lesson you can apply to just about any circumstance under the sun.

Sometimes you have to get lost. Sometimes you just have to work way harder than your brain believes you can–even if the only reason is because you were forced. If you have the desire–and someone awesome by your side–you can really surprise yourself.

I have a lot of goals right now. One in particular scares the crap out of me. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I know I have to work and work hard and rely on the crazy cool people in my life.

I might not bring back the fanny pack (assuming, of course, it’s not already back). I might whine and complain. But I’ll stay on the dang trail til the end. Because I can.