Yesterday I met a friend for lunch, and somehow we got talking about happiness and life and so on (as you do – to be honest, I can’t remember how this came up) and I mentioned having a pit crew.
This is how I think of the little network I’ve built myself – not that they’re there to serve me (unless it’s my birthday) but that they’re, you know, my group. If I break things in my life, I have…uh…the tire guy. The fuel guy. The . . . no, those are the only things I know about actual pit crews. I bet there’s a fire extinguisher guy – I have one of those. That’s probably my therapist.
Anyway, the pit crew doesn’t exist for depression’s sake. The pit crew is all things – like, my chiropractor. He’s part of it. My doctor, my therapist. Those are the well-paid-pit-crew members (everyone else is paid in intangible things, like sarcasm. Terrible program.).
They’re people that exist in my life before shit hits the fan – so if I get in a car accident, or break a leg, or my father dies, I don’t need to give these people my history. They already know it. I can walk in to their offices, living rooms, liquor cabinets, whatever, and I don’t have to start with “Five years ago, my dad died,” or, “I’m allergic to Penicillin,” or whatever. It’s so great to have that set up.
(Am not allergic to Penicillin. Not sure why I said that.)
My pit crew contains my friends and family. Their roles are different than the better-paid-members of the crew, and I hope that I’m part of their crews, too.
I’m the backup plan girl. That’s not to say, I’m the girl you marry when your first choice runs off with a stockbroker, but that I loooooove me some backup plans. I love to know that whatever the worst case scenario is, I have an idea of what to do – even if that idea is “Revise living will and check into hospital,” it gives me a sense of control and calm. So the pit crew – my pit crew – is essential to me. Because of all the crazy. There are so many people right now who know that I have PMS problems, it’s ridiculous. It should be really embarrassing. Why isn’t it? At what point did I check out and go, “I. Can. Not. Be Arsed. To care.’
Dunno. But I suspect the pit crew was involved, so thanks. If you don’t have a pit crew, I highly recommend one. If you do but there’s a hole in it – say, none of your friends are that great at helping you move? Start a Uhaul savings account. (Or some kind of local business that doesn’t suck.) There, you have a bank account guy. Handy. Backup plan.
Thanks to the friend who shall not be named as I didn’t ask her permission for suggesting I write a post about this!
Guest Post the 2nd tomorrow, and as far as the manject goes, I’m currently writing a bucket list. Suggestions are welcome.