On being … well intentioned, but

By Ingrid Sapona 

At a recent Friday night BBQ at my sail club, Paul, a former member of the Club, turned up. I didn’t know him too well, but I knew that sometime before Covid he took his boat and headed south. Every now and then, over the years, his name or photo would pop up on a Club Facebook group, so I knew he was still living aboard a boat somewhere. 

From the small crowd gathered around him that night, it was clear I wasn’t the only one surprised to see him. It was quite sweet watching as various people noticed him and then made their way to him for a big hug. Listening in, it was clear some in the crowd had kept pretty close tabs on his whereabouts. One Club member, for example, surprised me when he even knew the name of the (unknown to most of us) woman standing next to Paul. (It was Paul’s wife, a kindred sailing spirit from the UK who has been sailing around the world for 10 years versus Paul’s “mere” nine years. Apparently, they married in the Caribbean a few years back.) 

It was interesting to watch my fellow sailors’ reaction to Paul’s visit. Many in the group have sailed far and wide – some for months at a time. But none, to my knowledge, have left their life on terra firma with no plans of returning. While I admire the adventurous spirit of Paul and his wife, the thought of living on a boat full-time does nothing for me. So, I was surprised when more than a few seemed a bit jealous, as they commented that Paul was “living the dream”. 

I left the Club that night thinking about “living the dream”. It seems to me there are two distinct ways it’s used. Sometimes it’s said to poke fun or to mock someone who may be surprised at some unpleasant activity that may go along with an otherwise favourable activity. For example, though you may love having a dog, as you’re bending over to pick up its warm, smelly poop, a small part of you might think that activity isn’t what you dreamt of when you thought of the joys of owning a dog. 

But sometimes “living the dream” is said in wistful admiration. That’s certainly how I heard it when people said it to Paul that evening. And, I got the sense that for more than a few of them, they said it with a twinge of jealousy. As though, that by comparison to Paul, somehow their own sailing experiences – and lives – hadn’t lived up to their own dreams. Maybe, I’m reading too much into it, but… 

That whole “living the dream” notion reminded me of “Freedom 55”, a phrase that was popular 20+ years ago here in Canada. I didn’t remember what company came up with it, but I know it was part of a marketing campaign. The idea was that we should all strive to achieve financial freedom by the age of 55. A Google search of that expression indicates it was coined by a life insurance company and their goal was to help people focus on how much they need to save/earn to retire. 

While that company may have had a laudable intention, for many, the idea of having the financial freedom to retire at 55 was more undermining than aspirational. For most people, the goal of retiring at 65 is ambitious enough. So, like the grimacing realization that at any given moment you may not be “living the dream”, the reality that Freedom 55 is out of reach just makes you feel bad about what you’ve accomplished financially. 

I talked to a few friends about the way I see expressions like “living the dream” and “Freedom 55”. One friend mentioned the expression “having it all” and how trying to live up to that is daunting, especially for women. This friend, a professional woman, has concluded that it’s possible to “have it all”, but that what most people don’t tell you is that you can’t necessarily have it all at the same time. She had a fulfilling medical career, then she was in a financial position to quit work after having a child late in life, and now she’s enjoying being an empty nester and pursuing other interests. So, as she sees it, she’s had it all, just one thing at a time. I found that a healthy, refreshing perspective. 

Concepts like “living the dream”, “Freedom 55”, and “having it all” can certainly be motivational and inspirational. But maybe they should come with a warning that they can also undermine one’s sense of achievement. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being … in touch with my inner scout

By Ingrid Sapona 

In June, I decided to tackle two projects I’ve put off for awhile: re-screening the balcony doors and making a slip cover for an ottoman. When I told a few folks about my plans, they expressed surprise I’d even try to do these things. I explained that I consider myself pretty handy and I thought I should at least try. 

Recently, when promised client work was delayed, I had time on my hands and pent-up energy. So, no excuse but to get on with the projects. By far the most pressing was the screens. A friend had helped me replace them years ago and my most vivid recollection was that the hardest part was taking the screen doors off. (Installing the screens themselves was pretty easy.) Of the half-dozen YouTube videos I watched about replacing screens, one featured someone doing it with the door still on its track. The video was a bit blurry and you couldn’t see the work up close, but the woman seemed satisfied with the end result. So, my plan was to install the new screens in situ. 

I removed one of the old screens and taped the new screen to the door and started. I quickly realized that without taking the door off, I couldn’t put enough pressure on the gasket (the spline) that keeps the screen in place. So, back to YouTube for tutorials on how to take off a screen door. With renewed confidence, I managed to loosen the rollers and got the first door off. An hour later I had replaced the screen and I was back outside to try to re-hang the door. It went on pretty easily. Yay! 

Figuring I was on a roll, I proceeded with the second door. A wiser person might have basked in the success of door one and left door two for another day. But not me. I removed the second screen then tried to get the door off. I couldn’t budge the thing. I suspect the uncooperative roller was rusted. Rather than risk tugging too hard on the frame and getting it out of whack (but not necessarily off), I gave up for the day. 

My condo has a superintendent. When I had a problem with my thermostat, for example, the property manager sent the super to look at it. He played around with it and fixed it. So, when I ran into the super the next day, I asked him if he had any experience with our type of screen doors. He didn’t, but he offered to come up later that day to see if he could help. 

As soon as I asked him, I wished I hadn’t. He’s nice but I worried he might manhandle it in a way that might make things worse. Irritated with myself, I decided to have another try. So, back out and up on the ladder I went. To my surprise, this time I got the door off. I was relieved that I didn’t need the super’s help (or brawn) after all. 

I brought the frame out in the hall (it’s easier to work on it there because there’s carpeting and lots of space) and I went back into my unit to get the screen and tools. When I came out, the superintendent was holding the door frame, pushing on the rollers. Next thing I knew, he had pulled one almost out. Worried, I blurted out, “Don’t take that out – it’s rusty, but I need it intact.” He muttered that he thought the roller was broken but he shoved it back in. I thanked him and assured him I’d be fine from there. After he left, I made swift work of the re-screening. Rather than press my luck any further that day, however, I brought the door back onto the balcony and left it until I could get a friend to help me re-hang it. 

When my friend came over, I explained exactly what needed to be done to push the delicate old rollers up and over the track to ease the door onto place. My theory was that with four hands it would either go on pretty easily, or not at all. Lucky for me, it went on easily. 

With still no word about when the client work would be sent, I proceeded with the slip cover. I’ve never made one before, but it seemed straightforward. I made a tissue paper template (well, pattern in sewing parlance), set up the sewing machine, and away I went. I was done in an afternoon. 

I’ve been thinking about why I don’t hesitate to try these projects. I think it must go back to earning scout badges. (I’m sure there was a sewing badge, though definitely none for screen repair.) As a kid, when I was earning the badges, I thought we were learning to do particular things. Now I realize that what we were really learning were skills and approaches that could be applied to all sorts of things. Those badges taught us to focus on a task, figure out what’s involved in accomplishing the task, and then have the courage to try. Indeed, every time I open my re-screened doors, or pass the ottoman, I feel the satisfaction I felt when I earned a badge… 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona