That has changed some for me in the past year since we've had a trailer camper, although a lot of the learning curve is still above my pay grade. And to be fair, there have been many home projects over the years where Amy and I do it ourselves, with a lot of blood, sweat, tears and cursing along the way. Mostly for me, not from her. Plus, any time there are computer, Wi-Fi or printer issues, I'm the fixer, no matter how much I grumble about it. And I grumble about it a lot.
So, when my six-month-old electronic drum set hit a snag with the snare, I was bummed. The snare sound no longer triggered each time I hit the drum head. It was under warranty still, so I contacted the manufacturer and waited. And waited.
And while I waited, I continued to work on me. Learning, stretching, growing and improving are big parts of our family culture, and we encourage each other and our daughters to try new things, to try things we've always wanted to learn. We also encourage each other to work through our feelings about the world around us and others, all starting with how we feel about ourselves first. We check in with each other daily and during our weekly family meetings, to ensure emotional and physical safety, empathy, belonging and love.
The pandemic continues to stress us all out unfortunately. I've been super sensitive to overreactions and divisive anger all around us, limiting my time on social media and reading the news. So much has happened over the past year and a half. So much loss. So many broken. So much helplessness of not knowing how to help. Sure, we can donate, volunteer, get activated and participate in making a difference, which we do, but it can all still lead to mental health strain and sedating. Recently after reenergizing my heart, I focused more on Amy and our daughters. And me.
After fits and starts for decades of always wanting to play the drums, I'm actually playing the drums. Really playing them. Not in a band or anything like that. Just practicing and playing nearly every single day. Which is why when my snare broke, it bummed me out. I could still play most of my lessons, but the drum sounds were off and I felt off balance, out of synch.
I went online and searched for "how to fix your electronic drum head." I found a few videos and settled on one that guided me on what to look for. In most of today's electric drum heads there are two sensors that pick up the vibration from hitting the drum and then those vibrations zoom along cables to the drum computer that then translates into a specific drum sound -- snare, tom, cymbal, etc. -- that emanates from my drum speakers. The sensor at the bottom of the snare picks up the rim hits, and the padded sensor at the top picks up the main drum head hits. What I found was the wire to the top sensor was severed somehow. How it happened, I had no idea, but the cut was very close to the sensor itself under a glued foam pad, so I didn't think I could fix it.
A week later I finally heard from the manufacturer and the new snare was on back order and they'd send me an alternative drum. I said to myself, Great, but in the meantime I'm going back in. I took the snare apart again and went to work. This time I figured out I could lift the glued pad enough to reconnect the severed wire without damaging the sensor. After putting it all back together again, it worked. Right on.
But unlike my snare, I can't fix others when they're broken. I can encourage introspection and healing, but I can't fix them. While pandemic anxiety continues to punch down on many of us, the place to start is here (I'm pointing at my own heart). I can open up my own heart and tinker with what's inside. Maybe even fix it.
One of the latest meditations Amy I listened to states, "My relationships begin within, through love and caring for myself." Amen to that. Whether you meditate or pray, exercise or vacay, or engage in other kinds of mental health help, fix your heart first, one mindful beat at a time.
