Love, Leaks, and Letting Go
aka that time the plumber triggered my spiritual wake up
The plumber kept me up all night.
It's not what you’re thinking! I'm a happily satisfied married woman.
It was his enthusiasm. Frankie inspected the pipes and fittings like an archaeologist uncovering the buried treasures of a lost civilization under the kitchen sink of a rental property.
The previous owner reminded me of Grandpa. He collected everything. I mean everything. Piles of parts and metal scrap that might come in handy one day for one of his clever workarounds. He could fix just about anything.
Frankie was in awe.
“This guy was brilliant,” he kept saying, shining a flashlight into the musky basement like it was a cathedral.
That's not our ministry. My husband and I are in healthcare. We help maintain people. Pipes and wires? Nope. Not our thing.
We go to the professionals like Frankie the plumber. And Frankie was in his zone. You could see it. This man was downright romantic about water lines.
He told us how much he loves solving weird problems. How every house is a mystery. How he visits schools to recruit future plumbers.
He’ll ask the kids:
“How often do you think I deal with toilets?”
Because he knows they're thinking, “I don't want to touch poop!” And he knows they’re surprised when he tells them:
“Maybe once a month. And there's rarely stinky brown stuff involved.”
Frankie gave us the royal treatment. He must have thought we were getting ready for a visit from the Pope. Or at least the Health Department.
And then he sent the estimates.
I opened the email.
My jaw dropped so hard my TMJ filed a complaint.
He came back with a 14-point plan for two houses, a dissertation on galvanized piping, and a total that looked like it belonged on a mortgage application.
WTF. We just had a little leak we were wanting to get fixed.
That night I couldn't sleep.
The price tag. The to-do list that grows like mold.
I woke up the next morning already underwater.
Heavy.
Uninspired.
I asked the ceiling,
“Why am I even here?”
My calendar was packed. Theater projects. Real estate stress.
And don't get me started on my garage—it looks like a thrift store museum curated by a raccoon with commitment issues.
It all pressed in at once:
"Hey, remember us? We're your life, and we brought friends."
My nervous system?
Popped like a light bulb.
And then, in that foggy mental spiral, I heard a whisper:
Surrender to the outcome.
Which made me roll my eyes so hard I saw my ancestors.
What does that even mean? How do you surrender?
And I heard the whisper again:
“Love is a mindset.”
Then it all came into focus.
Mindfulness is a training.
So we can begin to choose what we hold in the mind—
instead of letting the Ego dictate like a leader gone astray.
Life isn’t a checklist.
It's a weird soul recalibration boot camp.
We’re here to remember who we are.
To clear out all the crap clogging the connection.
It’s not about doing more.
It’s about being real.
Being open.
Breathing and relaxing about how things turn out.
Because the outcome isn’t the point.
And when we do this—
when we pause long enough to hear the rhythm under the weight of it all—
we can feel Love pulsing through the mess we call life.
"We’re here to remember who we are." This really hit me.
I love the writing here and the metaphors. I was gripped by the story from beginning to end.
I want to meet Frankie! And I want to hear his stories about it how the old guy was a genius! I’d bet Frankie would have a blast discovering the fixes my dad has done in his various hikes over the years.
And I love a pro who offers a dissertation explanation with his bid. Proves he knows his stuff.
We have a handyman like Frankie. He cleared a clog in our sink and gave me a masters thesis lecture on garbage disposals and houses over 200 years old. Turns out garbage disposals aren’t meant for food!
And you know what, every time we call Craig the Hand-e-man the bill is higher than we expect, and we always figure it out. The money always appears. I can be sleepless about it or I can surrender to it. Surrendering makes the money appear faster.