I have this friend who’s a mechanic. He carries a little screwdriver with a magnet on the end and a clip that keeps it in his shirt pocket. I think he carries it even when he’s wearing a suit.
I swear he could fix a busted combine with that thing.
It does considerably more than turn screws. It scrapes, pokes, prods, pries, and levers its way through an assortment of small jobs. He knows what he can accomplish with it—and when to reach for something else.
He mostly works on cars, handling everything from standard brake jobs to computer diagnostics. But people also enlist him to fix old tractors, repair radiators, and occasionally get a cement mixer or backhoe working again. His experience travels beyond his usual work.
Put that screwdriver in my pocket, and I’d have a screwdriver. He brings years of knowing what to do with it.
That’s worth considering when we think about what makes us useful.
Start With What You Can Do (Capabilities)
Preparedness advice often starts with a list of “stuff” to buy—some of it impressively expensive for a problem you don’t actually have. Before long, you’re comparing somebody else’s pocket contents with your own, posting “Pocket Dumps” to Instagram, and wondering whether you’ve been leaving the house inadequately equipped for the last thirty years.
Start with two questions: What do you do? What are you good at?
Think of the old-fashioned doctor arriving for a house call, bag in hand. The instruments and supplies helped the doctor examine someone and provide care. Their usefulness depended on the knowledge of the person carrying them. Buy me the same bag, and you haven’t made me a doctor. You’ve given me a handsome bag full of things I’ll need explained.
The same principle applies to less imposing equipment. A warehouse worker may keep a marker and a familiar box cutter close. Farmers and ranchers carry things selected through days of fixing, fastening, feeding, and dealing with whatever happened since breakfast. Moms and dads assemble their own collections around the people they look after.
Even a bad habit can put a useful tool in someone’s pocket. Smokers tend to have a lighter. Its usefulness extends beyond the habit.
You don’t need an impressive job title to have practical experience. Think about what you do at work, at home, and for other people. What helps? What do you repeatedly retrieve from another room, borrow, or wish you’d brought along?
You may already have useful things in your pockets, a kitchen drawer, the garage, or a toolbox. Know where they are, keep them in working order, and gather what you need for the job at hand. A bag packed for a particular purpose can be handy, but you don’t need a separate bag for every possibility. Start with your own life and the things you know how to do.
The Knife That Stays in Its Sheath (Readiness)
I have another friend who trains horses. He carries two small fixed-blade knives in sheaths.
One works for a living. He uses it for all sorts of chores: cleaning out horses’ hooves, cutting baling twine, opening feed sacks. When I visit, he seems about as likely to have that knife in his hand as in its sheath.
The other stays put.
He keeps it immaculately sharp for emergencies: fouled tack or another difficult situation where he needs a sharp blade immediately. He doesn’t want to discover, at that moment, what a week’s worth of ordinary chores has done to the edge.
One knife earns its place through frequent use. The other earns its place by remaining ready.
That matters when we evaluate our equipment. A fire extinguisher or spare tire may go untouched for years and still deserve the space it occupies. The same consideration can enter someone’s decision to carry a firearm—a personal choice with responsibilities of its own, rather than a recommendation that everyone buy a pistol or take a concealed-carry class.
My friend has a specific reason for carrying that second knife, and he maintains it accordingly. Its usefulness isn’t measured by how often it leaves the sheath.
Knowing Whom to Call (Judgment)
That same friend knows how to care for his horses’ feet. But when a horse needs to be shod, he calls the farrier.
A farrier specializes in hoof care, including trimming and fitting horseshoes. Think part blacksmith, part specialist in the structure and mechanics of a horse’s foot. Many shape steel shoes at an anvil, combining metalworking with an understanding of hoof balance and how the animal moves. A farrier isn’t a veterinarian, though the two professions may work together when a horse needs treatment and specialized hoof care.
My mechanic friend makes similar decisions. His shop isn’t equipped for every major repair. Sometimes he refers a customer directly to another shop. Other times, he removes a component and sends it somewhere equipped to handle that part of the job.
Both men understand what they can accomplish with the skills, tools, and facilities available to them. They also know whom to call when the work goes beyond those resources.
That’s part of being capable. Knowing someone who can help—and recognizing when you need them—belongs in our thinking about preparedness just as surely as the contents of a toolbox.
Put us together, and we can accomplish considerably more than any one of us could alone.
Stop Hunting for the Socket (Efficiency)
My son is a machinist. He carries a small metal ruler, and his approach to a project is worth watching. He looks at what needs doing, measures, and assembles the tools and supplies before going to work.
I have occasionally approached projects through a series of increasingly irritated trips to the toolbox.
My mechanic friend once addressed that while “supervising” an installation on one of my vehicles. He let me get good and frustrated before asking, “Why are you constantly putting away the tools you’re repeatedly using?”
Every time I needed a socket again, I was hunting through the set, reading sizes among a collection of nearly identical pieces. I’d put something away, then promptly need it back.
He rolled out a tool cart and laid out four sockets, two ratchets, and three wrenches.
“Now you don’t have to go looking through toolboxes every time you need a tool. They’re all right there.”
Well…duh!
With only that selection in front of me, I could distinguish the tools by sight. I could reach for what I needed and keep working.
Those tools had been available the entire time. Arranging them around the job made the difference. Once the work was finished, there would be plenty of time to clean them, check them, and put them away.
The Things Experienced People Keep Close (Experience)
Spend time around carpenters and framers, and you’ll notice familiar companions: a flat carpenter’s pencil and, often, a well-used Old Timer pocketknife. Around welders, a piece of soapstone earns its keep marking metal and other surfaces where an ordinary pencil might struggle.
The electronics folks in the radio club have their calculators, pocket protectors, and small tools they commonly use. We can make fun of the pocket protector right up until we need the person wearing it.
Ask why someone keeps a particular item close. You may get a better education than you expected from a conversation about a pencil.
During my police career, the most-used thing in my “arsenal” was a notepad and pen. I still can’t leave home without them. What I write has changed, but there’s still plenty worth remembering.
My Moment Has Arrived (Usefulness)
I also carry a Swiss Army Climber. I’ve carried one since I was nineteen. Its size, shape, weight, and selection of tools make it a good fit for me. Victorinox isn’t paying me to say that. After forty years, I’m simply comfortable with the thing.
Among its useful little tools is a corkscrew.
A corkscrew.
Most of the time, its principal responsibility is holding the tiny eyeglass screwdriver that nests inside it. But on several occasions over the years, somebody has produced a bottle of wine and discovered nobody brought a corkscrew.
Just as the group begins discussing whether to push the cork into the bottle, I reach into my pocket.
Stand aside. My moment has arrived.
“Your husband carries a CORKSCREW?”
Yes. Yes, he does. We all bring something to the gathering.
It isn’t the world’s finest corkscrew. A sommelier might scoff or even be offended while explaining the virtues of something considerably more elegant. But with a closed bottle on the table and no better tool available, objections tend to soften.
Sometimes being useful means opening the wine so everyone can get on with a pleasant evening. After decades of carrying the thing, I’m entitled to enjoy my moment. And now you aren’t drinking your wine with little chunks of cork floating in it.
Wine is gross, by the way. Convince me otherwise!
Mom Has Something for That (Resourcefulness)
My mother, may she rest in peace, always carried a needle and thread in her purse, along with what appeared to be the contents of a well-stocked, medium-sized department store.
A missing button or split seam didn’t necessarily have to end your afternoon. That little sewing kit could fill in when something needed mending, and a needle could find other small jobs, including dislodging gunk from a narrow crevice.
Her resourcefulness extended well beyond sewing. When I broke my arm, she had a scarf available to help fashion a sling until I could get proper care.
Paisley print. Apparently, you don’t get to choose the upholstery during an emergency.
I was mortified.
Fall off your bicycle and scrape yourself up? She had something to help stop the bleeding before we got home. Then came the alcohol or hydrogen peroxide, followed by a renewed appreciation for staying on the bicycle. If I needed stitches, it was off to Dr. Beatie’s office.
That’s a childhood memory, rather than a recommendation for cleaning wounds today. What stays with me is that Mom noticed what needed doing and usually had something that would help.
Her purse reflected years of looking after people. She could mend something, improvise a temporary solution, and recognize when I needed the doctor. Caring for a family develops practical abilities, too.
Sometimes those abilities arrive with a needle, some thread, and a paisley scarf.
Recognize What You Bring (Confidence)
I’ll admit something: around some of these friends, I can feel pretty useless. I watch someone diagnose a mechanical problem or handle an animal with an ease I don’t possess, and wonder what I bring to the table besides questions.
And a corkscrew.
But I’m comparing their practiced abilities with things I haven’t spent years doing. My own experience feels ordinary to me because it’s familiar. It’s easy to admire someone else’s competence while overlooking your own.
You may do that, too. Perhaps you’re the person who can organize a complicated outing, feed a household on a tight budget, explain something patiently, or recognize when a neighbor needs help. Those abilities count, even when they don’t come with a toolbox.
Start there. Think about how you can contribute, what you’d enjoy learning, and whom you could learn from. Get familiar with the things you already own, know where to find them, and maintain whatever you’re counting on for an emergency. When something needs doing, you can gather what’s useful and get on with it.
Before buying anything, spend a week noticing what you reach for, what you go looking for, and what you wish you’d had. You’ll learn more about your own needs than you will from somebody else’s pocket dump.
There’s room to adapt what you have. Mom saw a temporary sling in a scarf. My mechanic sees uses for that little screwdriver that I would overlook. Familiar tools and practiced skills give you more ways to work with what’s at hand, along with better judgment about when to get something else.
And there’s room to learn. A bicycle mechanic’s knowledge of fasteners, cables, adjustments, and wear can prove useful well beyond the bike stand. Your own next skill may build on something you already understand. Pick a manageable task, borrow equipment when it makes sense, and spend time with someone who knows the work. You can add to your abilities without discounting what you already bring.
I’ll keep learning from my mechanic. Apparently, the first lesson is to leave the sockets on the cart.
And if somebody brings wine, I’ve got that covered.