’You service the ute. You maintain the tools. When did you last service the one running them?’
’You service the ute. You maintain the tools. When did you last service the one running them?’
Think about how much of your life is quietly organised around maintenance. The car goes in for its logbook service. The phone gets updated. The house gets its gutters cleared before the storms, the smoke alarms get their new batteries, the lawn gets mown whether you feel like it or not. At work the ute or car gets serviced on the dot, the tools cleaned and charged, the plant checked over before anyone dares switch it on. We understand within yourself that anything you rely on needs looking after or it lets you down at the worst possible moment.
We understand it about everything. Except the one running it all.
There's no logbook for a person. No light on the dash that flashes when you're overdue. So the servicing that keeps the inside of us running just quietly never happens, not because we don't care, its because nothing ever tells us it's due. And this isn't a tradie problem, or a bloke problem. It's a human one. The teacher marking papers at midnight, the mum who's the emotional shock-absorber for the whole household, the manager holding a team together, the retiree who suddenly can't find the point of the day and all of them running hard, none of them serviced. Everyone maintains the machinery of their life. Almost no one maintains the operator.
Where the neglect ends up.
Here's what skipped maintenance actually does to a person, because it doesn't just vanish. Everything you don't stop to deal with has to go somewhere. In my book I call that somewhere ‘The Tip,’ the dumping ground in the mind where we throw the things we haven't got time for. The worry we didn't sit with. The hurt we shrugged off. The hard conversation we kept putting off. Skipping your own servicing for long enough and ‘The Tip’ is where it all lands with load after load, year after year.
And a full Tip doesn't stay quiet. It runs the engine hot. It's the short fuse over nothing, the flat grey mood, the 2am ceiling-staring, the sense of being worn out by a life that, on paper, should be fine. That's not weakness and it's not a character flaw. It's an overdue service light, finally coming on the only way it can.
And it's never only you who feels it. The people who live and work alongside you are riding in the same vehicle. When the operator's running rough, everyone in the cab feels every bump.
What servicing yourself actually means
The good news: servicing yourself isn't some huge overhaul. It starts with one small skill. Firstly its learning to notice. To catch yourself mid-spiral and see ‘The Tip’ for what it is, instead of being buried in it without realising. In my book I call this becoming the observer: stepping back half a pace and watching your own mind run, rather than being dragged along behind it. That half-pace of distance is the whole thing. It's the gap where you get to choose your next move instead of just reacting.
From there you can start clearing the Tip, slowly, a bit at a time until the corner that was an overflowing dumping ground turns into something you'd actually want to spend time in “The Garden’, instead of a heap of crap!.
Book yourself in
You've spent your whole life keeping everything else running. The car, the house, the job, the people who depend on you. It's about time the operator got a look-in too. You don't have to wait for a breakdown to justify it, that's the whole point of a service. And you don't have to figure it out on your own.
I had a carpenter onsite tell me he had to leave urgently because his father was in hospital and didn't have much time left to live. Unfortunately his father was feeling pains in his chest four days before going to the hospital. He got up each day because he was under the pump, had houses to build and contracts to fulfill. He ignored the signs and kept going. Unfortunately by the time he got to the hospital he had damaged his heart severely and it was too late. All he had to do was go to the doctor on the Monday and letting people down was more important than himself. After his death other builders took over the contracts and the buildings were completed. How many of us push through avoiding what's really going on physically, mentally and emotionally?
Have a great week
Michael
Need a hand? Book a session with me — I've been where you are.
📖 Where the F*ck Do Our Minds Go? → Amazon AU: https://getbook.at/WhereDoOurMindsGo
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