Ideas about what to write about come from weird places. My septic system gurgles on purpose. I know why and how. Details later, unless I edit them out. If something goes wrong with it, it is my problem. I may not be the one to blame, but part of being a responsible adult is responding to things I’m responsible for. (It’s working fine, just to be clear.) None of us has exactly the same set of responsibilities as someone else, which is why we lead unique lives. Most advice ignores that. This is about much more than one house’s septic system.

It is September. There’s fog on Puget Sound. Soon I should hear fog horns as container ships try to maneuver around sail boats. My house is just high enough to catch some morning sunshine over low clouds. The season is late enough to be chilly. I took a break by taking my mug of tea onto the deck so I could: 1) not stare at a computer for a while, and 2) catch enough photons to warm up. Next month this might not be available without a jacket and a hat. Peaceful – except for the home construction in the neighborhood and the gurgling of my septic system.

I live in Washington State in the rural part of Island County on an island called Whidbey. Islands simplify life because they’re limited. On the mainland power, sewage, and water can flow to and from different places. Power goes out? Reroute. Water and sewage are probably harder to redirect, but they are also remote. On this island, power comes in via a set of cables at the north end, over forty miles from my house. Water comes from a well at the bottom of the neighborhood and a holding tank hundreds of feet up the hill. Septic systems are even more immediate. Each house has one.

On the mainland, if something breaks it is someone else’s problem, or at least someone else’s responsibility. On the island, except for the electricity, the problem will get fixed by someone, a name, not a faceless corporation. 

My septic system gurgles because it has an air pump that aerates whatever I put down the pipes. From there it goes to settle and stew before being pumped into a series of pipes in my front yard. The remains of my digested meals doesn’t get past my property boundaries until the residue is pumped from the tanks in a few years. I’d rather not have the gurgling, but I’m glad it works.

I look forward to having a solar panel system, which will make power more immediate too. That’s on the long list of purchases.

Just in case, I also have rain barrels.

For most of the population, providing necessities are someone else’s problem. I wonder if that is why so many disengage from vital news. There are more issues to deal with than one person can respond to, so it becomes easier to respond to things that are more entertaining like sitcoms and sports. 

Go to the other extreme and see how independent and resourceful farmers have to become.

Is it a wonder that we have different perspectives?

Just before trying to decide what to write about I read a Tweet (not an X) that made me realize what finally makes a topic rise from ignored to abstract to real.

“My 85+ yo relative who won’t mask/vax informed me yesterday they think there’s more to Covid than a cold.“

It only took a few years, and it had to become personal, something to respond to personally.

Imagine how frustrating that must be for power plant operators, professionals tending reservoirs, sanitation workers who must also dodge dimissive jokes about their occupation. Imagine how maddening that must be for people who are trying to protect the very people they are trying to save. Imagine how that must feel to be a friend of member of the family who is ignored or actively resistant to facts, logic, and compassion.

This blog is about personal finance, and it applies here, too. 

Here comes a bit of personal shame. I retired at 38. I knew good luck played a role, but frugal living and hard work did, too. At 48 I had written and self-published basically how I did it, Dream. Invest. Live. I hadn’t intended to write the book, but several friends and one best-selling author encouraged me to write it. Then I was hit with a perfect storm of bad luck. Bad timing.

Luck can happen both ways. I’ve seen both. 

Before my storm of bad luck I was glad that I was able to ‘win’ at the system. Living responsibly enabled living a life I could be responsbile for. After my financial storm, I’ve had to rely on scraps of work, paying penalties for early retirement withdrawals, taking a temporarily accelerated pension, and signing up for Social Security earlier than I wanted to. I earned my Social Security and pension, but I am also dependent on them but not responsible for their management. Politics can cancel Social Security. I don’t trust my previous employer to ensure the survival of my pension. Together, they don’t add up to enough; which is why I am so relieved to have a job. (It is part-time, but it is a treat that allows some treats.) 

My worry while wondering about this is for the majority of the population. We’ve just proven that we can’t responsibly respond to a pandemic. With the upsets in politics, disasters, and potential threats like the worst AI scenarios, there could be systemic emotional responses to interruptions in systems that we rely on others to be responsible for. 

Until about this time last year I was a realtor. I recall one house that was a classic homestead farmhouse. It started small and grew with additions. They didn’t always square with each other, literally; but the place could be an icon for true country kitchens, porches, and gardens. It took longer to sell than I expected; but evidently that was because people wanted to live a country lifestyle – but not if it involved dealing with a septic system.

It is good that they didn’t buy the house. I’m guessing they knew their limits, and that’s a good thing to know. 

I hope the new owners could handle that and enjoy the rest that came with it.

Pandemics. Climate change. Social injustice. Corruption. To some, they are abstractions. For each, a single event can turn them into personal realities.

Experience teaches where logic couldn’t. 
Unfortunately, experience takes too long.

My shame comes from feeling that I’ve failed. And yet, here I am. My finances are improving. My health is improving. Even my house is improving. And yet, my stocks have promise but languish – hopefully only temporarily.  I can’t afford the time and money for several health issues. I’m making my house nicer, but things that cost thousands of dollars are being deferred. And, I buy lottery tickets. I am not as independent and responsible as I’d like to be.

One of my favorite books is The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. In addition to its reminder to Don’t Panic, it also describes a tool many use.

“The Somebody Else’s Problem field… relies on people’s natural predisposition not to see anything they don’t want to, weren’t expecting, or can’t explain. If Effrafax had painted the mountain pink and erected a cheap and simple Somebody Else’s Problem field on it, then people would have walked past the mountain, round it, even over it, and simply never have noticed that the thing was there.” – wikipedia

That works until that Somebody Else becomes you.

That’s a long way to saying that I am glad that I’ve practiced frugality. Get rid of the extraneous. (Another reason to donate stuff.) Don’t try to do too much. (Too much is too much. Only do as much as you can be responsible for. Which is why parents impress me.) Practice resourcefulness. In addition to being a place for creativity to play, being resourceful helps with emergency preparedness. (And for me, diminishes anxieties, of which I already have more than enough – mostly in things I can’t control.)

The fog persists, but I haven’t heard a foghorn. That’s good. One blast at a time is simply announcing “Here I am.” Five quick blasts “Somebody better respond because we’re about to hit each other!” What was abstract becomes real. 

A person gets Covid and realizes it isn’t just the flu. What was abstract becomes real.

We read the news and see more problems than any one of us can handle – until we must. What was abstract becomes real.

I wasn’t glad to spend thousands of dollars on my septic’s alarm system, but that’s better than waiting until repairing it would cost tens of thousands. My septic system gurgles. That’s OK. It is a small price for living responsibly. 

As for now, it is time to refill my mug, make lunch, and be glad for what is quietly, reliably, responsibly working.

PS As I typed that line my neighbor’s car’s backup alarm was going off, just in case there was a kid behind the car.