It takes me a long time to solve a problem that I don't think I have.

This morning I put on one of my oldest, heaviest sweaters.  It’s a name brand.  It was too pricey years ago when I bought it, but I was on vacation with the girls in Seattle, so I justified the cost as a once-in-a-lifetime purchase, a practical souvenir.  Then too, I often think pricey translates into good quality; in sweater language, that means warmth.  And this brand name is widely acknowledged as synonymous with style.  On a lovely summer day, the off-the-shoulder sleeves, draping hood, and buttonless, open front seemed unique and unusual in a good sort of way, but on more than one cold winter morning since, I’ve muttered to myself, “what-were-they-thinking?”  Or maybe, ‘what-was-I-thinking?’ when I bought this thing.  It’s loose and blanket like.  It’s more of a wrap than a cardigan.  It’s impossible to wear under a jacket.  I can’t add enough pins to keep it closed against a draft.  And yet, this morning, when the temps were dropping like the stock market and the winds were swirling like controversy, I put it on again and tried to pull it tight.

I told myself that it’s warm, stylish, and it matches the new socks I just got for Christmas.  All good.  Then I swiped my fingers back and forth in a tin of old brooches hoping to find a particularly large pin I remember seeing one time.  In luck.  Found it.  Looking in the bathroom mirror, I began the puzzle of where to place it.  I could feel the shoulder seams pressing on my forearms.  I wished they didn’t do that, but pulling the shoulders in place would leave gobs of knitted material in front.  I knew because I had done that a qua-zillion times before.  I glanced up to see the look on my face, like, ‘this is never going to work. Why do I bother?’ And then, the next moment, for no reason, I simply pulled one side across the other.  I didn’t try to make the edges meet, like I had done a qua-zillion times before.  I simply pulled the right front over top of the left front and, with inspired excitement, pinned it there!  Shoulders were in place.  Front was smooth and covered.  The hood rested lightly on the back of my neck.  It may have even sighed.  I think I heard it whisper, “finally.”  Years.  Seriously, for years I have been struggling with this sweater.  I grappled with the push and pull of it, a sweater that reminded me of good times with my grown girls, and yet, that I paid too much for, and isn’t even my color — did I mention that earlier?  And now, here I am sitting on my couch in my cozy home in the wintry woods, drinking hot coffee, and feeling smug in my well-fitting sweater.   

Did I say smug?  I meant snug.  I should not be smug.  Far from smug, way far out, where smug borders on ridiculous.  Not fun territory, but, unfortunately, rather familiar to me.  Sipping my strong coffee, I think this is what I’ve learned:  it takes me a long time to solve a problem I don’t think I have.  Oh, I had a problem with the sweater, but all along, for a long, long time, I assumed the problem was the designer’s stretch for something novel to present, or that it was the grandiose attitude of the retail brand that they could put their name on anything and it would sell, or there was an outside chance that, perhaps, I had made a rash decision, but surely one that was understandable because, hey, I was on a sentimental vacation with my daughters.  All of the above are the real answers to ‘what was I thinking?’  Now, I’m wondering what other problems I assume are someone else’s fault that maybe I can fix by making an adjustment myself.