Fixing is an act of love

Sweden is known for its meatballs, and we Americans likely know this because of IKEA. The build-it-yourself retailer’s blue and yellow buildings — a curtsey to the Swedish flag — house various culturally informed meals and eats. There are little gummy candies and fika-inspired treats and, yes, “Swedish meatballs.”

I know this, because I basically grew up in IKEA. Some of my first memories are from Småland’s ball pits and play areas. My parents would drop me off, get an hour or so to shop by themselves, and return to pick me up. I didn’t want to leave.

Like movie theater popcorn getting piped through every vent, IKEAs have a weirdly pleasant odor that hits you as soon you walk in. If I close my eyes right now and breathe deeply, I get an ode to furniture glue and fresh particle board.

When you buy something like a dresser, it comes in efficient boxes — all flat-packed and ready for transportation from floor to home. In all my years of buying their stuff, it’s always had every part I need — no missing screw, nut, or bolt. It’s a small miracle of industrialization and supply chain management.

However, to construct an IKEA bed frame or table may involve curse words, stubbed fingers, blisters, and growing humility. Once, I set up a piece of furniture outside my son’s room and then attempted to move it in only to realize it was too wide for the doorframe. I had to entirely deconstruct the piece and reconstruct it again.

All these inputs make for one brilliantly orchestrated assault on the senses. No wonder I feel these powerful emotions and memories from a store. Dubbed the IKEA effect, research suggests that people grow to appreciate and hold greater affinity with products they have a hand in making. Researchers in a 2011 study stated:

...we suggest that labor alone can be sufficient to induce greater liking for the fruits of one’s labor: Even constructing a standardized bureau, an arduous, solitary task, can lead people to overvalue their (often poorly constructed) creations.

Everything I’ve ever purchased and worked on hooks me. There are always imperfections, but I grow to appreciate those mistakes. They become something more than cheap, faux wood and vinyls — they are a labor of love from assembly to maintenance.

Now a homeowner, the volume of things needing to be repaired has skyrocketed. Yet, the amount of joy I get from working on these things has been intoxicating. No person should feel this level of pleasure when replacing GFCI outlets, getting a furnace running again, or wiring up a smart doorbell. But I do — it’s a high! Every time I accomplish another project, more of me feels invested in this house.

One of my friends, Josh, picked up on my investment early on — teasing me about loving all this housework. He’s right, I’ve liked it much more than I expected. Everything I fix, I love. There’s this pride of having completed something, but also the embrace of imperfection — of humanity, really.

Moving from the material world, the same is true for the immaterial relationships with those I cherish most. These connections with people are not without blemishes; they, too, are an imperfect, emotionally charged impact to the senses.

In the relational world, I trade slightly leaning bookcases for conflicts with my old roommate about cleaning the dishes. He'd ask me to clean up before rushing off to school — reasonable, but I kept dropping the ball. There's the fight I had with a former partner mere minutes before seeing a client — trying to be present for someone else's trauma while my own heart was still racing from the argument. After my clinical work, we returned to the issue and tried to solve our differences. It was hardly perfect, but the attempt mattered.

Laboring over these issues, sitting down with someone and committing to change, and working to improve communications have always borne success. There’s this powerful “IKEA effect” in relationships, too. When I contribute, invest, improve, and fix (as does my counterpart), I feel a greater sense of value in the connection.

It’s funny to think 30+ years ago I’d be learning these lessons from a ball pit in an IKEA. Now, I have this sudden craving to drive off to the store, but first, I have a few therapy sessions. Hejdå!