The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

God I laughed,

In many ways, it encapsulates the over-confident male.

The one who thinks they can deal with anything and everything. From DIY to Corporate Espionage … and anything in-between.

Which means I’m talking about 99% of all men.

Including me.

I discovered this disease when I was in my early teens and started playing the guitar.

I had a very shitty Fender Strat copy … and yet, despite not even having played enough to earn callouses on my fingertips, I decided I had the skills to take it apart to reset the neck.

As crap as that guitar was, it did not need it’s neck resetting.

Breaking maybe, but not resetting.

What made this decision even worse is that the last time I attempted any sort of DIY – at my school woodwork class – I managed to basically saw my finger off. Like properly through the finger. Which my best friend Paul, thought could be put back together by just shoving a plaster on it. Despite it spurting with blood. Until sane adults saw it and sent me to hospital.

The scar is still there …

But did the trauma of that memory stop me?

Of course it didn’t.

You see the way karma works is it not only makes you forget your past mistakes, it actively lulls you into a false sense of security.

Because it makes the first half of whatever the fuck you’re doing, feel dead easy.

And within seconds of starting, you think you’re a natural.

A master.

Hell … you start believing you could become a millionaire from doing it for others.

So you carry on, with a devil-may-care attitude and it’s that exact point, it decides to strike.

I still remember holding the neck of the guitar in one hand and the body of it in the other and wondering how the fuck I was going to reconnect those 2 parts.

Nothing seemed to fit.

It was like one piece had grown and the other had shrunk and were now sworn enemies.

I also remember losing screws and spending ages rubbing my hand back and forth over the carpet hoping I’d feel it and find it.

I didn’t.

They’re probably still in there. Somewhere.

And that was my first lesson in discovering the male brain is a massive bullshitter.

Over the years it’s tricked me a few more times.

Once it convinced me I could jump over 12 of my mates lying down on the ground while I rode my bike – the incredibly heavy Raleigh Grifter – as fast as I could to hit a ramp that was made up of some bricks and a piece of wood [result: Colin Bowler has never had children] or the time it encouraged me to buy a BBQ and invite friends over that evening to christen it [result: I somehow built it back to front and almost blew everyone up when I turned the gas on] and then there was the time is hyped me up to detail my car [result: a $1000 bill for adding scratches rather than removing them]

And while I’ve accepted I need to ignore the over-confidence that is a part of the male psyche, it still occasionally shows its power – just to remind me not to get any big ideas – though fortunately it’s more about me stupidly believing I can write a presentation … or a brief … or do a project in a fraction of the time than it actually takes me.

Or said another way, it has evolved from me breaking my possessions, to me breaking promises to my clients and colleagues.