Let me briefly explain what today’s picture and thoughts are all about. It’s about a pinball machine that’s already 35 years old – fragile, and deeply cherished by me. And it’s about me and the fact that I’m
a) someone who’s pretty competent at playing the machine, but also
b) someone whose knowledge of electronics and mechanics is very, very, VERY basic at best.
It’s about how I recently had to call in a technician because of a mysterious error that left the game unplayable for many years. And it’s about the incredible joy I feel now that, after such a long time, the machine is finally working again.
But above all, it’s about the fact that, even after the repair, I found myself more nervous than ever – worried that the next time I turned it on, it just… wouldn’t start again.
For far too long, I chose to push away that uncomfortable and abstract fear – reassuring myself that everything was and would remain fine.
That there was nothing to worry about, especially as long as I didn’t touch any of the many complex and sensitive electronic parts.
Well, that worked – until it didn’t.
At some point, hiding from that worry just wasn’t enough for me anymore.
So I called the pinball technician again to simply share my concerns with him and to ask if there was anything I could do to make the machine a little more robust, to increase the likelihood that it will remain a fun and functional pinball machine for at least a few more years.
Long story short: yes, there was indeed something I could do. Even for me, the technical greenharn that I am. Something that would make the circuits, connectors, transformers, transistors, and coils “a bit happier” and less prone to failure: to simply replace all the “power-hungry” traditional light bulbs with modern, power-saving LED bulbs.
A brilliant way to significantly reduce the system’s electrical load – a genuine life-extension measure, so to speak.
So I threw myself into the task. I replaced over 120 different lights: some with screw sockets, some plug-ins, some colored, some clear.
Some easy to reach, others ridiculously buried and bolted into place (which, I thought, was a pretty funny metaphor for life – about how some things are just so inaccessible and difficult to reach).
And now?
Now the machine shines in an entirely new light again. Crisp, punchy, and bright.
And what about the charm of the old incandescent bulbs? For the most part it’s gone. It’s part of history (As seen on the photo) But there are still a handful of lightbulbs in the machine that I simply couldn’t reach. A little side fact that I somehow like as well.
What matters most, is that the chances have gone significantly up that I’ll be able to keep this machine a little longer. And also that I no longer have to hide from and duck away from that fear and uncertainty. That I instead took action. Something I should probably have done much earlier.