What Would You Do If You Could Not Fail?

I was reading the second chapter of “At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream” when I came across this simple, yet profound, question: What would you do if you could not fail?

I’d heard it somewhere else before, but hadn’t really given it the attention such a question deserves. I immediately went big: End world hunger; bring lasting peace between Israel and Palestine; Help people understand the difference between country music and pop music with a redneck accent… But such a question isn’t meant to be taken literally (or is it?). I gradually began to think about it as just anther way of figuring out what would make you happy. But first I had to test it with someone who doesn’t take things as literally as I do. “MIIIISSIIIIIIIIIEY!,” I called into the other room. My lovely wife came out.

“What would you do if you could not fail,” I asked her. She thought for a moment and answered in her shy is-this-a-trick-question sort of way: “I dunno, I guess start some sort of business or something”. I pressed on, “What kind of business?” to which she replied “Making something from stuff, I guess”. Sensing we were getting somewhere, I continued the line of questioning while consciously trying not to corral her into a predetermined answer: “Making what from what?,” I asked. “Making clothes from old materials,” she answered. I asked if that would be sewing or knitting, and she replied “Sewing,” which I should have realized myself since it is difficult to “knit” old materials. I asked what she was doing in the other room, and she said that she had been making a skirt out of this old dress she’d found at a thrift store. We both smiled, and she went back into her room/office/workshop, while I continued to lay on the couch and think about the question posed in this book: What would you do if you could not fail? I think I’ve come up with an “ok” answer…

I would work hard doing things I enjoyed doing during the day, and write about it at night.

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This morning I woke up, had breakfast, put my coffee in the to-go cup and asked Missy if she could help me load up the generator into the back of my truck. I drove over to Willis and helped Tommy put in the floor joists for a cabin he’s building so I could learn how to do exactly that for the cabins we plan to build ourselves. His cabin is to be about 300 square feet and the bathroom toilet is a ten-gallon bucket. While humanure composting is something I am interested in, the good ol’ fashioned septic tank seems to be working fine for us. And who would want to pay over $100 per night to shit in a bucket? It would ruin our plans to run an Appalachian Farmstay.

I came home for lunch and, after some leftovers, we painted the back of the house. We had already painted the front and North side of the house, and Missy had done a little of the back while I was helping Tommy. It went faster than we had thought, and we had time to take a hike/swim in the creek with the dogs.

One of the few homeowners we haven’t met on our road stopped by afterward to ask (jokingly), if we ever took a day off. I told them I had recently agreed to one day per week off to save my marriage (also – almost – jokingly) and he said he knew how I felt. He and his wife own a donkey farm up the road from us, and it is immaculately kept.

The neighbors left; I picked flowers for Missy; we had dinner; I sat down to start a new book, and she went into her room to sew. And that is when this little story began…

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Category: Rants, Simple Thoughts, The Transplants