I took a bike repair class in college. Part of me believed I would actually use what I learned, but another part hoped I would never need to. It was not as if I was trekking in the Sierras. At the time I was a student in Iowa which, if you have never been there, I will assure you is mountain free. It could not be more flat if a glacier slid across it which I think one did. 

There was the weekend I rode from my college in Cedar Falls to visit my sister at her college in Ames. A foolish endeavor, and yet I survived, my little repair kit at the ready. Alright I admit that on the return trip, eight miles from my dorm I was so tired I knocked on a farmer's door and begged for a lift. 

Having a patch kit and wrench is different than knowing when and how to use them, it turns out. How annoying is that?

John Gottman talks about repair attempts in marriage. Both his books and videos give examples of when one half of a couple senses that things are going off the rails and tries to fix it. My John has been clever enough to pipe up with an appreciation just when I am about to escalate. It works. 

Another couple I love uses humor to diffuse the tension. That can be smart as long as no one is the unlucky target, which they manage to avoid. 

For some people touch can calm them, or a deep breath. Even a genuine smile can stop the escaping goodwill like a square of rubber on a nail hole. Stepping outside can create a shift, or bringing up a sweet memory. There are also apologies, requests, and expressions of affection in your pocket, should you remember to reach for them. Apparently crossing your fingers and wishing you will never need a repair can only take you so far. 

Looking back it was not my most brilliant moment when I chose to ride across the state alone. But the relief of asking for help when I needed it has stayed with me these forty years.