Fix the Faucet
Notice an area in your life that is screaming for attention, and then address it.
Have you ever felt that something in your mind or body didn’t feel quite right?
Maybe you had an injury. There was a subtle ache or pain.
Maybe you were dealing with an emotional issue. You felt tired or overwhelmed.
Did you notice the early signs?
Did they start quietly, subtly, like a whisper?
Did they grow louder? Did they eventually roar like an airplane engine?
And, then, all went quiet.
Then something snapped.
And maybe you broke.
Have you been there?
I have.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is a beautiful, profound and complex book. It is a meditation on living a life consistent with things done well — a life of quality.
There is a section at the start of the book that has stayed with me. The author visits the home of some friends, and he notices that their faucet has a leak. Even though the water is shut off, the faucet continues to drip.
Every day, the couple doesn’t address it. Every day, there is an increase in the stress and anxiety that it produces.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Eventually, the faucet explodes, or you do.
A little over ten years ago, I was working at a law firm in Miami. I was miserable. I hated the job, and I didn’t feel aligned with the profession.
Why was I there? What was I doing?
I stayed in the job because there was a nagging question that I didn’t have an answer to: what else was I going to do? If I’m not a lawyer, then who am I?
Then, one day, I spoke with a client on the phone. I had to use certain words, and I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.
I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t say the words. As if my throat had closed. Perhaps it was an anxiety attack.
So what did I do? I found a workaround. The word that got me stuck was the first word in the sentence. If I rearranged the sentence, moving the first word to the end, then I would be able to speak without issue.
Here’s an example:
If I couldn’t say “Good afternoon, nice to meet you” — because I was getting stuck on the “Guh” sound of “Good” — then I’d rearrange the greeting to “Nice to meet you, good afternoon.”
I gave myself a pat on the back. I found a solution.
But the signal that my mind was sending was only a whisper. The noise would grow louder.
About a year later, I moved on to a tech company in Santa Clara. I left law behind, and I left Miami behind.
New job (sales), new industry (software), new place of residence (San Jose).
It was exciting, and it was scary. And the whispers grew to the droning sound of a Boeing 747 jet airplane.
Because of my language skills, I had an opportunity to help open the Latin American market, so I was making calls in English, Spanish and Portuguese.
One call was in Spanish. Then English. Then Portuguese. Back to English. And so on.
Throughout these calls, I had my freezing/stuttering experience. Often, I found a workaround. I rearranged the sentence and got by.
Sometimes, as if giving myself a Heimlich maneuver, I would hit my thigh in order to blurt out the words that I would need to say.
None of my colleagues noticed. But I knew. Something wasn’t right.
Then, I had to call on a bank in Brazil.
They asked me a simple question: “We are Thiago and João, what’s your name?”
Saying my name didn’t roll off the tongue. I could feel the anxiety level rise.
I stood out of my chair, and I began to pace with a headset on. My name wasn’t coming out, and the prospects on the phone waited patiently for a response.
I hit my thigh. Nothing came out. I hit my thigh harder. Nothing.
I couldn’t say my name.
(If you can’t say your name, then do you even know who you are?)
My colleagues stopped what they were doing and watched me. To them, it must have seemed like watching someone struggling to keep their head above water.
Eventually, I yelled my name out. And the Brazilians said, “okay.” We moved on, as if nothing.
But I knew that I had to do something about this.
After that call, I approached my manager. I said, “I know that my job requires that I be on the phone. But, every once in a while, I will struggle to say something. I might not be able to get the words out of my mouth.”
His response? “Okay. No problem.”
We moved on, as if nothing.
But I knew that something was wrong. The problems were innocent at first. But, now, I couldn’t even say my name.
This wasn’t just a whisper anymore. Or an airplane.
Instead, something snapped.
Something, fundamentally, was broken.
What was broken was that I didn’t know who I was. I spent my entire life in school and, a couple of years out of law school, I was unhappy.
I was unhappy working in law. I was unhappy living on the west coast in a job that didn’t feel transcendent.
I was unhappy, misaligned and lost.
That’s when faucets break. That’s when you break down.
Four and half years after that episode on the phone, I left tech. I did a teacher training in yoga and started to teach.
I dressed more comfortably and let my hair down. I got to interact with people who were also on a path of healing — both students and teachers.
I was healing. I was listening. I was becoming more aware.
The faucet was broken — my throat would close, and the anxiety attacks would appear from time to time — but I was beginning to do something about it.
Yesterday, March 9th, would’ve been my mother’s birthday. It was a difficult, emotional day.
I called both of my sisters. On one I call, I cried. On the other, my sister cried.
Our relationships are difficult, but I knew that I wanted to break through the barriers and connect with them.
I wanted them to feel that I loved them. That, in spite of being 3,000 miles away, I was there for them. That I thought of them. Considered them.
Part of me didn’t want to make those calls. I’m estranged from one sister, geographically distant from both. But I called.
It felt like the right thing to do. It felt like what my mom would’ve wanted for us.
I couldn’t let the faucet stay broken. I couldn’t let pride get in the way. Or my hurt and sorrow.
Instead, I needed to be better. I wanted to be compassionate.
Today, I feel freer. I feel as though some weight fell off of my shoulders.
I told my loved ones that I loved them, and it felt good. My loved ones told me that they loved me, and it gave me comfort.
I felt peace.
Is there a broken faucet in your life?
Are you dealing with a subtle, small injury? Where is the pain?
Or do you have some trauma that is unresolved? Where is that hurt?
Will you let the faucet drip, and drip and drip?
Is there something that you can do to address it? To face it head on?
Can someone help you? Can you talk to them about it?
Our minds and bodies give us cues. They ask for our help. They yearn for our attention. And we, oftentimes, ignore those warning signs.
Until something breaks. And then we need medication. Or therapy. Or we lash out.
I invite you to look closely. And listen.
What is your body telling you? What is your mind thirsting for?
The path to healing is never easy, and we will falter.
But, both for our sake and those we love, we need to address it.