Last summer I purchased a cool charcoal grill. I was delighted with all the extra features I found on the shiny new floor model. A fold down table attached to the left hand side to hold the food and utensils, too cool. A cool adjustable rack for the coals so that the heat could be adjusted. A cool big black knob on the cool silvery backsplash thingy. Oh and the warming rack and the utensil holder were cool too.
Did I mention I thought it was cool?
This grill reached the ultimate zenith of coolness in the moments of anticipation I enjoyed before I tore open the box.
The coolness factor dropped to zero when I saw that ninety five percent of the grill was in pieces wrapped in paper and plastic. As in ‘some assembly required.’ My heart sank when I saw a myriad of screws, nuts, bolts, washers and wing nuts lying on a large cardboard rectangle, encased in shrink wrap and labeled with some strange and mysterious alphabetical code. Maybe it was Sanskrit? No such luck.
And the directions? The directions were simply line drawings with tiny arrows pointing to tiny letters indicating which fasteners were needed to assemble which section. They were labeled thusly: LJPMH or BMPJ or KEC. WTF?
There was a time when I would have taken one look at that mess and become overwhelmed with disappointment and frustration. I would have shoved all the bits and pieces back in the box. I would have closed the lid willie nillie and shoved the whole thing to the back of the closet and said “later” (translation - screw it)
I was surprised that the new me stayed opened up to the possibility that I could do this. After a deep breath, a quick prayer and a glass of wine, I spread the parts out all over the kitchen table and began at the beginning.
First, I stood back and looked at the big picture. What was the grill supposed to look like when it was finished? What is its outer form? Where am I going? What is the meaning of life? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? OMG is this all there is???
I meant to stop before I became overwhelmed but I missed the “Stop Projecting” sign post and had to go back to the beginning.
Outer Form of Grill?
Check.
Stop Projecting?
Check.
Keep beginners mind?
Check.
I unfolded the instruction sheet and examined the directions. They were laid out like a blueprint. I simply needed to start at the first set of drawings, match the grill part to the lettered fasteners and make the pieces on my end look like the picture. Only then could I move on to the next section.
It was hard. Very hard. I wanted to jump ahead. I thought I was smarter than the blueprint and wanted to do it my way, the better way. The discipline it took to keep all those little labeled parts where they belonged was painful.
Sometimes I was clumsy. I dropped washers and doo hickeys and watched bolts and watchamacallits roll across the floor. I had to get down on my hands and knees to scour the floor looking for nuts and screws under the table. I think I swore a few times. I know I swore when I hit my head on the kitchen table when I stood up too soon.
But every time I had a setback I went back to the beginning. I remembered that I was a beginner and was open to all possibilities. I kept the goal in mind and the instructions in front of me and, TA-DA, ended with a cool new grill and a cool new appreciation for my cool new abilities.
The best part was that when I was I was finished there was only one plastic doo-hickey and 3 washers left over.
Building a grill turned out to be my yoga that day. I just had to remember to step into the flow of grace, apply the principles in order, go back to the beginning if there was a screw up and remember to appreciate the results, even if it didn’t turn out perfect.
