“I’m afraid you’re looking for a needle in a haystack, miss.”

Said yet another guy at yet another hardware store.

In my head, I immediately responded:

“Fine. Then I’ll just build my own needle.”

I am a fiercely independent person.

Could that be a personality trait?

Maybe.

Could it be a trauma response developed after enough experiences taught me that if something was going to get done, I would probably have to do it myself?

Probably that.

Either way, one thing is certain: no one gets to tell me what I can or cannot do.

I’ve carried that mindset through every season of my life. In my relationships. In my career. In rebuilding homes. In rebuilding myself.

If I decide something matters, I will show up for it completely.

And eventually, I will figure it out.

The latest example was my pool.

Now, before you start picturing a glamorous backyard oasis, let me assure you there was nothing glamorous about this situation.

There I was, sitting on the ground staring at broken plastic parts, leaking water, and approximately 10,000 gallons of evidence that I had no idea what I was doing.

The pipe connection had cracked nearly two-thirds of the way through.

Plastic, as it turns out, does not magically heal itself.

And whatever solution I came up with needed to withstand the pressure of an entire swimming pool.

I stared at it for a while.

“Well,” I thought, “I guess I’m building a whole new connection.”

Then there was the skimmer.

The skimmer was leaking badly enough that my backyard looked like a small wetland preserve.

The pump couldn’t run without water flow.

The pool couldn’t clear without the pump.

The skimmer couldn’t hold water.

It was basically a very frustrating circle of dependency.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “Guess I’m rebuilding the skimmer too.”

For days I wandered through Lowe’s, Home Depot, and Ace Hardware.

Not once.

Not twice.

Repeatedly.

At one point I was carrying around random PVC fittings like some kind of plumbing archaeologist.

I became that customer.

The one who walks in holding a mysterious broken part and says,

“I don’t know what this is, but I need another one.”

Every store employee looked at me with increasing concern.

One gentleman spent fifteen minutes trying to help before finally delivering the now-famous line:

“You’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Apparently what I needed no longer existed.

Which, if you know me, is basically an invitation.

Growing up, my mom was a plumber.

A woman working in a man’s world long before people were celebrating women working in a man’s world.

She taught me something powerful:

There is almost nothing you can’t learn.

There is almost nothing you can’t figure out.

There is almost nothing you can’t do if you’re willing to stay with the problem long enough.

Not because you’re naturally gifted.

Not because you’re fearless.

But because you’re stubborn enough to keep trying.

I’ve carried that lesson everywhere.

When I remodeled parts of my home in Illinois.

When I rebuilt my life after divorce.

When I rebuilt my life after a fire.

When I packed up everything I knew and started over.

And now, apparently, when I need to become an amateur pool technician.

Three days later, I fixed it.

The leaks are gone.

The connections hold.

The pump is running.

The pool is clearing.

And I am ridiculously proud of it.

Not because it’s a pool.

But because every once in a while life puts a problem in front of you that whispers,

“You can’t do this.”

And every once in a while you get the opportunity to answer,

“Watch me.”

My kids are proud.

I’m proud.

And this summer we’ll spend our days making memories in a pool that exists because I refused to accept that “it can’t be done” was the final answer.

Sometimes the needle isn’t in the haystack.

Sometimes you really do have to build your own.

And honestly?

That’s where the fun begins.

With all my love! 🤪 xoxo J