It’s definitely summer here in central Florida, where the temps have already reached 90+. I let the dogs out into the backyard yesterday morning and followed them into the sun. Joe immediately grabbed a ball and sprinted a couple of laps around the yard, then fell to his side to chew it and loll in the warmth of the grass. I watched for a moment, then turned to head back inside when I noticed a small pipe leaking into the dirt.
When I bought the house in 2016, the owners told me there was a sprinkler system that had been installed decades before but no longer worked. I’ve never used it, watering the lawn the old-fashioned way—with a small sprinkler attached to the hose. On some days, I just rely on the midday Florida rain.
I knelt and looked more closely. It wasn’t pouring out, just dripping, but it was constant. I turned the bright red knob to tighten it, but it was already closed shut. The water continued to drip. I knew there was no one I could call on Memorial Day, so I went into the garage and looked around for some duct tape.
I’m a writer, not a plumber. I couldn’t find any duct tape. Ask me where the journals and pencils are, and I’m your gal.
But I was on a mission to fix the problem, so I went inside and got packing tape. You know, the clear, wide sticky stuff that always jams up on the weird little plastic holder and you have to peel it off with your fingernails, inevitably wasting a bunch of it.
Yeah. That stuff.
I went back outside where Pepper was wandering around the yard and Joe was still snoozing. I managed to cut a piece of packing tape without missing the little holder thingy and tried to wrap it around the pipe.
Did I mention I’m a writer and not a plumber?
I managed to get three strips to sort of stick, but the water continued to drip into the ground. It was a pathetic attempt to fix the problem and ended up looking like a child’s art project—with no discernible positive effect.
I began to wish I’d just ignored it, worrying that if I took off the tape now, I’d certainly dislodge something important and the drips would become a geyser in my yard. Why didn’t I just leave it alone?
When was the last time you tried to fix something without the right tools? Without the knowledge to effect positive change? When you bumbled into something you knew nothing about?
Or just ignored something bad, hoping it would magically vanish?
I could have done the hard work. I could have driven 15 minutes to Home Depot to pick up duct tape. I could have found a YouTube video to show me what to do. I could have looked online for a plumber and left a message for someone to call me back after the holiday.
We’re often the same when facing someone else’s crisis. We could do a lot of things to learn the best approach. We could read a book, listen to a podcast, or talk to someone who’s been through similar pain. We instead often grab the packing tape of clichés or the not-duct-tape of “I don’t want to make them uncomfortable by talking about it,” and miss opportunities for true compassion and healing.
In 2022, I closed my martial arts school after losing over 60% of my students. Turns out teaching martial arts on Zoom is a novelty for a year or so but becomes just one more thing people abandoned during the pandemic. When my lease was up, I made the incredibly painful decision to close the facility. After 15 years of pouring my life into my students, I had to sell everything in the space of a week to turn over the keys to my landlord.
I had friends who were so uncomfortable with my grief that they said things like, “You have all these memories of lives you’ve changed. Concentrate on that.” Others said, “Well, now you can stop traveling back and forth between Texas and Florida and enjoy life on the beach!” Still others said nothing at all, just watching as various martial arts schools came and paid pennies on the dollar for equipment that had seen hundreds of students punch, kick, laugh, and cry while on their journey to black belt.
None of it stanched the drips.
When we see problems, it’s natural to want to help—to fix things. We may have a friend who learns she has cancer, another who’s facing divorce. A colleague gets laid off or a family member goes bankrupt. And it’s all too often that we dive right in with packing tape instead of what’s actually needed…what will make a difference in the drips of sorrow and pain and sadness and fear.
Or we just ignore the leak and act as if nothing happened.
In either case, the drips don’t go away. The diagnosis or the grief doesn’t magically disappear just because “Well, I tried.” When our words are nothing more than packing tape on a leaking pipe, they are at best useless and at worst, unkind. They look and sound awkward and amateurish. They don’t help.
Because words matter.
Nearly two years on, I still feel the sting of losing my students. I miss Saturday mornings when I’d get to the studio early for my own workout and then watch as one of my senior black belts (an MIT graduate, vice president of engineering in his day job) would teach the Little Dragons how to do jumping jacks and punch on the pads, telling me, “It’s the best 30 minutes of my week.”
My eyes fill up just typing this.
The best words I’ve heard in two years? “That absolutely sucks. I’m so sorry.” Two sentences that stopped the leaks, even for a moment.
I look at my embarrassingly poor attempt at patching a pipe in my yard. And so I call my son-in-law, a general manager for a huge commercial landscaping firm in Florida, and tell him what I’ve done. After he finishes laughing at me, he tells me to text him the next day and he’ll send an irrigation specialist to come fix the pipe.
An irrigation specialist. I don’t need a plumber. My ignorance is astonishing and humbling.
Can we all commit to putting away the packing tape? Let’s forgo the need to patch things up when really, all we need to do is sit with those who grieve. Let’s quietly say, with all sincerity, “That absolutely sucks. I’m so sorry.”
I’m not a plumber or an irrigation specialist. I pray that in time of need, I can just be a friend.
When the right words are “That absolutely sucks. I’m so sorry.”