Break glass in case of emergency.
This directive encases several safety items. Fire extinguishers, first aid kits and train emergency brake, to name a few.
Such an arrangement might seem a bit strange at first. If these items are essential, why enclose them in glass?
It seems like a design bug, but it’s a feature.
For the fire extinguisher, the first aid kit, the emergency brake — these are contingency plans. In an ideal world, they’re never used at all. The barrier between us and them makes that clear.
But does putting the backup plan out of sight leave it too far out of mind?
Not long ago, my parents and I met up down in Houston.
It was our first time traveling together in a while, and it seemed promising. But less than a week before our travels, my mother informed me that a longstanding knee injury had flared up. She would still be making the trip, but in a wheelchair.
This threw everything for a loop. We had arranged for activities — the Houston Rodeo, the NASA space center, and more — without wheelchair accessibility in mind. Now, we had to make sure everything would work out.
As I brought up these concerns, I seemed more worried about them then my mother did. Normally the consummate overplanner, she let go of the reins and fell back on the same refrain.
They’ll accommodate us.
I was incensed.
Sure, Houston follows the requirements of the Americans with Disabilities Act — making ramps and elevators available for wheelchair-bound people. But we hadn’t followed those same requirements.
We had made decidedly inaccessible reservations, and the impetus was on us to pivot to wheelchair-friendly ones.
Yet, in the midst of all this, my mother was punting. It was simply infuriating.
Eventually, my parents and I were able to rally. We made some phone calls and ensured that my mother could access all venues without hassle. But for weeks after the trip, I remained annoyed at how everything had initially gone down.
I realize now what was going on. My mother was overwhelmed by her situation, and she simply shut down. She stared blankly at the glass-encased fire extinguisher, even as the room started filling with smoke.
But the result this inaction — making the contingency plan on the fly — might not have been so bad after all.
I am an avid runner.
On most mornings, I can be found striding down local roads or getting some speedwork in on the track. As I write this, I’ve already run more than 1,200 miles and three half-marathons this calendar year. And there’s still about half a year to go.
Through all those miles and races, I heard a warning from fellow runners.
Be smart. Listen to your body. Don’t get yourself injured.
I knew the danger they spoke of. Running is a full-body exercise — a synchronized harmony of motions, repeated hundreds of times a minute. The chances of all those movements landing flawlessly are scant.
Injuries are almost inevitable. And while I did my best to follow my fellow runners’ advice — to train intelligently and remain attuned to my body — I knew that I would have to reckon with the boogeyman eventually.
That reckoning came in the form of lower left leg discomfort. I tried to run through it at first. But when the pain persisted throughout the day, I sought medical attention.
I was ordered to stop running for at least a week, and to start icing my leg frequently.
I followed the instructions diligently at first. Doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders after all.
But after a couple days, I was losing my mind.
I missed the endorphin high, the feeling of constant motion, the camaraderie of my running buddies — all of it.
I had not adequately prepared for this moment. Just like my mother with the wheelchair, I had remained in willful denial about this scenario — hoping it would never come to fruition.
But now, my nightmare situation was all too real. And the next move was mine to make.
So, I put together a contingency plan on the fly. I headed to the gym at the crack of dawn each day and spent an hour on the stationary bike. I tried on the sports headphones that had sat unused on my dresser for weeks. I made sure my fueling and hydration supplies were sufficient.
I stayed productive, even as I was down for the count.
Fortunately, my time on the shelf turned out to be short lived. But the lessons from my injury will endure.
What exactly are those lessons I’ll take from my injury experience?
Plenty of them involve the leg I hurt. Load management, treatment, and recovery are all much more top of mind for me now than they were before.
But the most critical lessons involve my mind.
Not having a contingency plan was a mistake — one that nearly left me in a spiral of misery when I was torn away from the activity I love.
And yet, having a fully-fledged plan might also have ended up fruitless.
After all, there is much about an adverse situation that must be experienced to be understood. Left and right turns that can’t possibly be accounted for ahead of time. Happy little accidents uncovered on the road back to normalcy.
If I had encased the fire extinguisher in glass ahead of time, I might have found it to be inadequate. Sure, it would have quelled the immediate crisis. But what about the aftershocks?
I would have needed to improvise either way. So perhaps, the tact I took wasn’t so bad.
The truth is that it’s best to split the difference. To have a plan for when things turn south. And to be ready to rip up that plan when it proves inadequate.
Sure, building something not fit for use might seem like wasted effort at first. But consider that initial contingency plan to be an investment. A baseline to set us up for the on-the-fly version that follows.
This will set us up for success, even in the shadow of setbacks.
So, let’s get to work.