Hope Holds Things Loosely

on finding the right level of tolerance

Hi Blue Roomies,

I’m away this week for the yearly gathering of my beloved clergy group. In my absence, I’m sharing a reflection from Hope: A User’s Manual. I choose this one because this group of friends helps “keep me loose.” Read on for more about what I mean:

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In an effort to expand our son’s interests beyond science fiction books and video games, we subscribed him to a service that sends a monthly kit to be put together. Our favorite so far has been a lockbox—a wooden box with a key and lock that, when turned, allows a multi-paneled door to slide open in a cute and elegant way.

The first step was putting the lock together. James followed the instructions, with me sitting nearby primarily for company. A few times he needed some extra hands to hold the head of a screw in place so it would tighten properly.

The lock has a series of moving parts that go up and down depending on whether they are triggered by the key. As we tested it out, we realized that we’d fastened some of the pieces too tightly to move easily. Others weren’t tight enough.

What we’d stumbled into was the difference between loose and tight tolerance, which Adam Savage explores in his book Every Tool’s a Hammer: Life Is What You Make It.

When machines are assembled, they’re put together with various levels of tolerance, which is broadly defined as the precision with which the pieces match one another—whether they fit tightly or loosely together. The appropriate level of tolerance depends on the machine, its purpose and use.

Machines with loose tolerance have a lot of give in them. I picture Mater, the lovable tow truck in the Cars animated movies. Mater could generously be called a bucket of bolts, but he doesn’t need a tight tolerance to be a good tow truck; in fact, loose-tolerance machines are often assembled as such so they can be repaired easily and handle lots of wear and tear in the meantime. Given how often we see Han Solo and Chewbacca tinkering with the Millennium Falcon, I suspect the so-called hunk of junk to have loose tolerance. But as Han reminds us, “She’s got it where it counts.”

Sports cars, on the other hand, are ultra-precise, with measurements down to the ten-thousandth of an inch. If the Falcon is loose, the imperial star destroyers are tight. Tight tolerance is reserved for the highest performing equipment. Every machine is subject to vibration, says Savage. Loose-tolerance machines are built to absorb it; tight-tolerance ones are built to minimize it or channel it into the engine’s performance.

Neither loose nor tight tolerance is better than the other; these are value-neutral distinctions. Which one we choose depends on the purpose of the machine and what we expect from it. Both have strengths and weaknesses, though. Loose-tolerance machines work fine so long as they operate within their expected parameters. If they run too fast or too long without service, they will fall apart. But they can also handle lots more “slop,” which is what Savage calls the dirt and junk that can get inside the inner workings.

Savage is writing about life as well as machinery. There’s a cost to putting our lives together with too little tolerance, too little “give.” This comes up often when I coach clients who are exhausted from the effort of tightening down so many bolts. Often they’d like to keep things a little looser, a little more flexible and Mater-like, but they work within systems that expect precision at all costs. This is especially true for women and people of color, whom society typically affords less margin of error.

In a previous section, we explored how hope is decoupled from cause and effect. As such, I believe hope tends more toward loose tolerance than tight. Hope expects things to be chaotic and loosens the screws, ever so slightly, in the name of keeping the apparatus together.

Loose tolerance requires us to relinquish some control, which is always easier said than done. My friend Tim Hughes Williams is a fellow pastor and student of improv comedy. He says, “What I learned from improv is that if you are a good performer, you can act like you are yes-anding but still feel very in control of the situation. But improv just doesn’t work [that way] . . . you’re ruining it if you’re doing that. You’re still managing it. You’re aggressively managing it in the most ‘casual’ way possible.”

In other words, are we really going with the flow, or are we just acting like it? Am I really a hopeful person, or am I acting hopeful while resting in my own proficiency?

A tweet by Jordan Lancaster says this:

Boomers: I heard she went to [looks around nervously] [whispers] ~therapy~ Millennials/Gen Z: LMAOOOO YALL GUESS WHAT MY THERAPIST TOLD ME TODAY

Yes, I know plenty of Boomers who go to therapy. (And once again, my own Generation X is invisible.) But I’m heartened when I see how openly my kids’ generation talks about mental health, how openly they accept racial diversity, LGBTQ diversity, religious diversity, and the like. That’s loose tolerance. In his book, Savage extols the benefits and joys of what he calls mistake tolerance: the willingness to be kind to ourselves when our efforts fall short, and to try again and again.

What he’s describing is grace. And hope is rigid and false without it.

Reflect

Consider the areas of your life that have tight tolerance and loose tolerance. Have you calibrated things in a life-giving way? Are shifts necessary?

Practice

At the end of each day, reflect on your day with an abundance of kindness, giving yourself grace for the things left undone. (A friend once said she began each day with the prayer “Whatever,” and ended the day with “Oh well.” Try it.)

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What I’m Up To

I’ll be preaching on Sunday at Trinity Presbyterian, Herndon VA at 10:15 EDT. Join us via livestream.

And a final reminder that yearly paid subscriptions are discounted through April!

Steady on.