Dear World: Are You High? (And Other Things I've Been Wondering About Life)

I’m Ash, and I’m a writer, traveler, nonconformist & nomad, and every week I’m sharing funny field notes from around the world. Currently, I’m in America writing about what it’s been like to return home to my small town, twenty years after living abroad.

The things you’re bad at will break you.

WAS JUST THINKING THIS DEEP THOUGHT while binge-eating a bunch of buffalo wing potato chips, because naturally I thought: what the fuck am I eating these for? I don’t even like these! But apparently I am a monster when it’s fall and it’s getting colder outside and you know what happens then?

Spiders the size of your car show up.

There was a spider the size of your car—maybe even bigger, if it’s a 2-door—near my sofa this morning, which is way too close to MY HUMAN HEAD. How can I ever sit there again? I do not recommend you Google “Pennsylvania Wolf Spider,” or every last hope you had for humanity will be immediately deleted.

There are a lot of “nooks and crannies” in this old 1800s house, by which I mean, you could fit a beer can through half of these cracks. This is why I finally did it. I finally sucked it up. I finally called…

THE WINDOW MAN.

But, not for windows. That would be too obvious.

I called THE WINDOW MAN because I wanted doors. But, don’t you think of windows when you think of Andersen, too?

I kept seeing the ads for “Renewal by Andersen,” and naturally as a trailer park girl I’ve always wanted to have ANDERSEN WINDOWS. I mean, what success! This is literally the 40-year-old equivalent of having Van sneakers when you’re 14. Success! Did you also want Van sneakers when you were 14?! What a status symbol. I remember begging my mom—yes, again, while we lived in a trailer park (I did not read the room)—for a pair of these sneakers, because these sneakers would make me magical. This is 100%, by the way, because I had a crush on a skater boy who used to skateboard on the bridge outside the trailer park. MAYBE HE WILL LOVE ME IF I HAVE VAN SNEAKERS. MAYBE HE WILL THINK I AM AVRIL LAVIGNE. MAYBE HE WILL SEE THAT I AM JUST LIKE HIM.

(I was not anything like him.)

Of course, my mom was like: you think I can afford $50 sneakers?????????????????? Are you high????????????????

She didn’t ask me if I was high, I never did anything like that—not even cigarettes, I should win an award—but I find myself wanting to say that phrase all the time lately because it’s just the best way to express what I am constantly thinking about *everyone*. Because everyone is sort of psychotic right now, am I right?

Are you high????????????????????

So I call Window Guy, who we shall now refer to as “Door Guy,” and Door Guy is scheduled to come out because, real talk, I NEED NEW DOORS. BADLY.

DOORS ARE IMPORTANT ON A HOUSE.

And, since I hilariously now have two houses from the 1800s to maintain—this one, and the guest cottage—I need double the doors.

Preferably full glass. With colonial-style grids. To let in more light. And a key code thingie, so I can rent out the cottage.

Anyway—so slappy comes over and we walk the property and we take measurements and we try to make small talk that isn’t too awkward. Except then I said the word “ass,” which wasn’t a big deal until later he’s looking at his iPad trying to find a product and he suddenly shouts, “oh, sour grapes!” It was at that point when he decides to tell me—after I have already said the word “ass”—that he’s quite religious, and is making an effort to keep his vocabulary clean.

And now you know why I binge-eat potato chips.

We make it back to the porch where multiple things happen next:

1. He opens his laptop and starts a video for me to watch. I am immediately transported back to 8th grade s*x ed. I feel ashamed, almost, like I am being infantilized. But, the formality of it all is refreshing. It says: I can trust you.
2. He goes out to his car to get a kit. I admit, I am grateful for the reprieve. And I’ll also admit: I oscillate between watching the video like a people-pleasing good girl, and COMPLETELY SWIVELING MY HEAD IN DEFIANCE. (When I see him coming back, though, I quickly revert my attention to the video. Damn.)
3. Then we go over all of the ways that Andersen doors are built like bulldozers. There is a sample door. There is all sorts of insulated stuff layered inside the door. There are lots of locks. There is energy-efficient glass. There is the ability to instantly remove the hinge if you need to get furniture in and out. And, there is Door Guy, who is actually quite good at this. I am mesmerized. He is *excellent* at sales. I would buy a timeshare from this guy.

I couldn’t help but think about my time working in advertising sales for the magazine. And how those skills serve me now, even to this day. And how his skills are serving him, right this very second. Because, I will tell you what:

I had no intention on spending $24,000 (!).

And yet, by the end of 3 hours, I found myself signing a little form like a complete bonehead.

But, here’s the problem (and what I need your advice on!)

THIS IS ONLY FOR TWO (2) EXTERIOR DOORS.

Two doors!

Two exterior doors, in all their Andersen glory, with all their energy-efficient features, being custom-made to fit the doorways (yes, this part sucks), with all of those fancy electronic Yale code locks, and including all of the installation, and re-framing of the doors, and a 20-year warranty.

But, $12,000 a door?

Surely, this is insanity?

And so, I have 3 days to cancel and clawback any rash decisions.

I NEED YOUR ADULTING ADVICE.

This is way too much for a door, right?!?!?!!?!?!?!

And, does being 40 really cost this much?

Tell me what your experience has been in the comments! (And if I’m high.)

ALSO—————I just wanted to say that sales really is one of those things that will always be a superpower.

I am lucky to share some of that superpower. And, I’m also lucky to have built other skills that have served me profoundly:

• Making people feel super comfortable in my presence
• Being able to turn my personality (and energy level) up to Level 10 on-demand
• Operating with such enthusiasm, people *want* to be around me
• And, of course, writing with a crowbar in my hand. It will always come back to writing. (You’re doing the workshop with me, right?!)

Those things are skills that I will always be able to use, like a lever, to pull myself in any which direction.

But then, of course, there are the things I am bad at.

The things that break me.

Because you are only as strong as your weakest link, right?

• Binge-eating crap when I’m overwhelmed and need a break (um, not helping me be a supernova)
• Not being able to be around people for too long (this always feels hard, probably because I am always operating at Level 10)
• Being less organized with admin than I’d like (creativity takes up sooooo much mental space + energy)
• Being really good at starting 1,000 house projects and then leaving each one in a state of half-done, because I now need to do THIS OTHER THING, and there are SO MANY THINGS, and ALL OF THEM NEED ME.

What’s that James Clear quote from Atomic Habits?

We don’t rise to the level of our goals. We fall to the level of our habits.

Well, fark.

But, isn’t that the truth?

The things you’re bad at will break you, because you will always be limited by it.

This is why I’m so insistent on learning how to do everything in this house. I hate having to depend on other people. If I could, I’d do the damn doors myself. (I seriously did think about YouTubing my way through it. And then I pictured the door just toppling over like a drunk giraffe and flattening me like a cartoon pancake.)

In a strange way, the house is teaching me who I am. Every project, every screw, every $12,000 door quote—it’s a test of my relationship with capability. Do I fix it? Do I fake it? Do I finally admit I can’t do it alone? It’s humbling, and that’s probably the point.

Because that’s what growing up really is: not getting better, but getting braver. You stop expecting yourself to know everything and start trusting yourself to figure it out anyway. And sometimes that means letting someone else in—someone with a drill, a tape measure, or just a better understanding of “hinge-side-up.”

I don’t want to be the kind of person who throws their hands up and says, “Well, I’m just not good at that.” Because that’s where rot sets in. First in the floorboards. Then in your brain.

So, yes, I’m learning. And maybe one day I’ll hang the perfect door and feel like a superhero. Until then, I’ll be here eating buffalo wing chips, trying not to be broken by my own bad habits—

—and making peace with the fact that some days, you just get sour grapes and a spider the size of your car.

So long as it doesn’t mind me saying “ass.”

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