I Am an Old Appliance on Its Last Legs

It used to worry me. But now I often rewatch the same shows with my youngest. Ted Lasso? Three times. And now with Derry Girls I think we’re on our fifth viewing. Season 2, Episode 5 is absolutely cracker with loads of memorable, hilarious moments. And a tiny subplot is the TV’s wonkiness. Set in the ’90s in Northern Ireland, their television is older with a dial instead of a remote. It needs a good whack to get it going every now and again. It seems absurd that hitting an old appliance is the key to get it working properly.

But it’s true.

I had one of those TVs in my basement growing up. And then after you whacked the side you had to stand absolutely still in a certain spot for the picture to stay stable. Sometimes it was just too hard to stay frozen so I’ll never know how that episode of The Love Boat ended.

At some point in the last few years, I stopped being a person and became an old appliance. I have become that TV.

No one is hitting me. However I need a good shock from time to time to keep going. Shocks are generally not positive but they do get the heart started. Now I fear I’m becoming the radio that hums softly in the background for decades until someone casually turns it off and it never hums again.

For years, I ran non-stop. Life never really allowed me to power down. Kids, work, house, marriage—there was always something demanding that I stay on, stay tuned, stay available. And I did, because I am the workhorse. Working hard for my family was my purpose.

I am that old washing machine in your Grandma’s basement with no bells or whistles and just gets the job done. And at some point, something changes, and maybe it needs replacing. The water bill is kinda high. The machine works fine, but maybe we need to look at more efficient models? My marriage ended. I lost my job. Now I’m preparing to leave my home. The machine randomly stops working. It’s gotta go but it’s so big and clunky we’ll never get it up the stairs. Those old TVs are so heavy and awkward so we ignore the flickering screen for too long and then it just doesn’t turn on anymore.

Hitting something to get it working again is called percussive maintenance. It’s a funny term for a phenomenon that actually has a bit of science behind it.

Turning something off and on again legitimately works as a restart. A reboot is when you shut everything down and clear the way for a fresh start. Lots of Tiktok coaches and psychotherapists like to use these metaphors for self care. When you need to constantly restart or reboot you might need a full system update or upgrade. For old appliances such as myself, the fear is the operating system is no longer compatible with the new programs, so there’s no point in updating.

Resting contact failure is that phenomenon where a machine has been on for so long that–from the moment it’s powered down–it never turns on again. It happens because the internal components are working together when the device is constantly running. And once it’s turned off the materials cool, contract, or shift slightly. So if there was microscopic wear or any internal damage, the device might never power back up. I’m fighting against that. I’m not sure I’m winning.

I felt it when I lost my job. I feel it since my kids don’t need me in the same all-consuming way they once did. I’m stuck in it as I sit in my house—my home of almost 15 years—knowing I have to leave and feeling incapable of the work that needs doing. I was running for so long and legitimately afraid of what stopping would do to me. And since I’ve had to slow down, parts of me aren’t quite clicking back into place. In order to get me up the stairs and out the door they have to take me apart. I don’t want to be left for the scrap metal guys to pick up.

So I’m trying not to power down completely. I’m trying not to give in to the exhaustion, the heartbreak, the unfairness of how the past few years have unfolded. There has to be a way to rewire me, to reconnect me, to fix my picture without needing to be smacked around by life every time I need to function. I don’t want my kids to be frozen in in place just so I can operate as expected.

Those old TVs were heavy and awkward but some of them were beautiful pieces of furniture that the family loved. Maybe there’s a future for me reimagined as a cabinet for a new LED screen. Or an aquarium. Something still solid. Still useful. Something to be appreciated again—if only for the stories it once held.