Check Engine

Is your light on?

The delightful aspect of hitting 50/middle age/perimenopause and also having hilarious friends is that we are all commiserating by sending each other the most unhinged memes and videos about the experience. My friend Sacheen has been sending me chapters of this series which has me crying from laughter. (I believe it also helps that we in Generation X tend to react to things like the jaded eye-rollers we always have been.)

Chapter 2 of this particular video series includes the advice to not get up too fast, or “your check engine light will come on.” For those of us who have been reporting “sleeping wrong” as the reason for our inability to turn our heads to the left, this rings painfully true. My “check engine” light has come on for such atrocities as: Stepping Over the Dog, Sitting for Too Long, and Reaching for Something on the Top Shelf.

Those of us who drive pre-owned vehicles are quite familiar with the actual “check engine” light. Not that it doesn’t come on for those with new vehicles, but I think those folks are more likely to immediately get their cars in for service if it happens to come on. New vehicles are supposed to be less likely to have problems, and are usually under warranty. Used cars, on the other hand, are slowly (or sometimes quickly) dying.

Disclaimer: we only buy used cars, and I love my Subaru so, so much. She is not dying. But I think Dan wanted to do a murder while attempting to replace her brakes a couple of weeks ago.

When my vehicle’s check engine light comes on, my first job is to unearth the source of the trouble. I will confess that while I know more about automotive intricacies than I did when I obtained a driver’s license, my knowledge is shallow and narrow (to put it kindly). Luckily for me, Dan knows an impressive (to me) amount, and Billy is well on his way. If neither of them has any idea, then it goes to the mechanic. Post-diagnosis, we decide whether it needs to be fixed or whether it’s an electronic thingamajig that we can endure and move on with our lives.

Disclaimer: I already admitted that I don’t know much about the mechanics of automobiles, so please refrain from critiquing my nearly-nonsensical explanation in the previous paragraph.

In a surprisingly related story, around the midpoint of this past school year I was invited for a chat with my beloved principal. She needed to let me know that my check engine light was on, and while she couldn’t diagnose the problem, she wanted me to be aware. My personal check engine light (the emotional one, the mental health one) shows up as impatience and isolation. I snap at the humans around me, and curl in on myself. As I am generally social and gregarious, with a tendency toward smiles for all, it was a definite warning sign.

I am so very fortunate to work in a building with the most compassionate and observant of humans — people who choose to work with children are trained to spot check engine lights in those around us so we can care for the tiny humans — so my light wasn’t on for too long before it was noticed. I was able to take the steps necessary to get myself in a better mindset — recharged my battery, to clumsily follow my own darn metaphor.

We often can’t help ourselves. My beloved Subaru couldn’t text me to let me know her brakes were bad, I had to pay attention to her squeaks and creaks. Our fellow mortals don’t always realize that they are in a bad space, so we have a responsibility to keep an eye out for their check engine lights. Changes in personality and behavior are often signs of pain and suffering, and sometimes simply acknowledging that you see it (and perhaps offering some assistance) can help. (But whatever you do, try to stay away from advice unless you are asked. That applies to auto mechanics and humanity in general.)

Let’s face it: mental health, physical health, and automotive health are all complex, and we have a love/hate relationship with all of our vehicles — motorized or flesh-based. You’re welcome for that image.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie