"You must have a removable black non-stick insert pot.”

That sentence kicked off a much bigger story.

In this episode, Val shares a porch-style yarn about two true-life experiences that taught the same lesson.

A simple AI experiment involving a new electric canner quickly turned into a series of confident instructions that didn’t match reality. Funny at first, unsettling when you consider how a beginner might respond.

That conversation reminded Val of her recent journey to get a new pair of glasses. Seven visits, three eye exams, and repeated assurances that everything was normal, even when it clearly wasn’t.

This episode isn’t exclusively about furniture flipping.

It’s about discernment in every day situations.

About staying engaged in your own life whether it be personally or in business.

And about what happens when you quietly keep showing up until confidence and clarity finally comes.

If you’re newer and still figuring things out, grab my free Resource Guide >>> ValFrania.com/ResourceGuide

Val Frania:

All right. Today is one of those just sit with me a minute episodes. No bullet points, no checklist, just a story. Well, a couple actually, because sometimes a lesson doesn't come from teaching. It comes from listening to someone tell you what happened and thinking, yep, "I've been there." So picture us on the porch for a minute. Rocking chairs, coffee in hand, maybe a little breeze. And let me tell you about the day I decided to test AI and the several weeks I spent trying to see straight. So recently I tried out my new Presto sixteen quart electric canner. I know canning, I've done it a long time, but I thought, let's see what this new AI thing says. I usually use ChatGPT, but thought I'd check out a different one. I even named it. I called it Gemma. You know how I call my ChatGPT, Chet? This one's Gemma. First red flag? Gemma decided my name was Gemma. I said no, my name is Val. Gemma said, "Got it, Gemma." I corrected it again. Gemma doubled down. At that point I thought, all right, we're off to a great start. So I just decided to ask my very simple question: "This canner doesn't have an insert pot. Do I just pour the water right in?" Gemma responds. And I'm paraphrasing, but not by much. "STOP! Do NOT pour the water in. You must have a black nonstick insert pot." I'm looking into my canner like I've lost my mind. No black pot, no insert, just stainless steel. So I tell her, "It didn't come with one." Gemma says, and I kid you not, "Then your canner is incomplete and unsafe. Do not use it." Now I'm thinking, well, that's interesting because Presto would probably want to know that. So I send photos to Gemma. Gemma looks at the photos and says, "Ah, That clears it up. You actually have a different model," then she explains very confidently how this model works. Water goes directly in, rack at the bottom. Okay, great. Except five minutes later, she says, "During venting, flip the lever." I'm back staring at my new canner. What lever? There's no lever. So I say, "There is no lever." She replies, "You're right. This model does not have a lever. My mistake." And then just straight into the next instruction. Then comes the real moment. She tells me, "Leave the regular regulator on during the water bath canning." And I actually said out loud to an empty room, "Oh no, you didn't just say that." Because if you know canning, you know that's a no. So I push back. I quote the manual, and finally Gemma says, "You are one hundred percent correct. Never use the regulator." Now, listen, you DO use a regulator when you pressure can. To me, this this was kind of funny, but if you're new, that's quite dangerous. What struck me wasn't just that she was wrong. It was about how confidently wrong she was When reality didn't fit, she didn't stop. She just invented parts. And that's when I realized this isn't really about AI. It's about authority. Okay, second story, that whole exchange reminded me of something else. My glasses. I needed new ones. I get the exam, I pick out frames. Top of the line lenses. Progressives. Transitions. It came to a little over one thousand dollars. Fortunately, my insurance paid half. But man, five hundred bucks for glasses. That's another day that we'll talk about the prices of things, but okay, so they're done. I get the call, they hand them to me and say, give it a week. You'll have to get used to them. Well, a week later. Left eye, blurry, right eye, okay. Ghosting. Couldn't read traffic signs until I was right on top of them. So I go back, they send the lenses back, I pick them up again. Same problem. Plus I can't read the fine print. They send them back again. Another exam. They adjust the script. Another pickup. Still wrong. Now listen. At this point I knew I was really pushing it. Seven visits, three exams and not once did anyone roll their eyes at me. Not once did they act impatient, but I also knew I wasn't imagining this. I paint furniture, I work online, I stare at screens all day long sometimes. My eyes are unusually sensitive. And I said to the doctor, if I can read super fine print without my glasses, these ones you gave me, then why can't I read it with them? That's when she paused. She said it might be cataracts, might never go away. This might be the best we can do for you. She said my vision is now twenty twenty. But then she said, let's try something. So I sat down with a manager and he talked me through my options. He said the lens I have been trying out could be problematic for some. He's heard stories. So we ordered a new pair of glasses, different lens brand, different transition color, different frame. And he credited me back one hundred and twenty bucks. Go figure. And I put them on. Right out of the gate, WOW. These are good. On the way home, I had read every road sign out loud. Every single one. Until my husband, DH, finally said, okay, we get it. We can read now. The funny thing is, I felt like a kid again. Like I was in fifth grade with my very first pair of glasses. I remember looking around my world in total total wonder. Everything was clear for the first time. Somewhere along the way, during my many years on earth, I stopped accepting, "Just okay" when better as possible. That doesn't mean being rude. Doesn't mean being difficult. It means knowing when something isn't right and sticking with it. And if you've ever looked at a finished piece or a decision or a season in life and thought, "I guess this is just how it is," then you already understand my point with these stories. Yes. Of course. Respect authority. Use the tools provided you, but don't hand over your thinking or think that the reason you're worn out from the struggle is your fault. And I think that's why when we're overcome with fatigue, whether over circumstances or people, is such a powerful thing. Not because we're weak, but because fatigue slowly convinces us that clarity isn't coming. I made a friend a few months back last summer online. A lot of my friends are online, maybe most of them, and she was all excited about flipping and that kind of thing when she started. But then when she ran into some problems, she backed off and left her pieces to sit because each of her pieces had a problem. One was bumpy, one had orange peel, one the paint wasn't sticking right. Another one she couldn't figure out how to fix. So she stepped back. And from what I gather, she's quit. That makes me really sad. I hate to see that, because if we power through, if we question things, if we try stuff out, if we believe that we're going to get to that end solution, then we're okay, then we're going to move forward. On Sunday, our pastor talked about ministry fatigue and compassion fatigue. And as I sat there listening, I realized fatigue shows up in a lot of places. Yes, there's ministry and compassion fatigue. And also there's business fatigue. There's creative fatigue. And they're absolutely something called flipping fatigue. I'm going to coin that phrase because I see it happening all over with flippers. Sometimes it's not the work of flipping that wears us down. Sometimes it's outside influences or those in authority can steal our joy. It's the joy of what we do that keeps us going right and enjoying the journey? Years ago, when we were serving in full time ministry, we learned this the hard way. It wasn't the people that exhausted us. Oh my goodness. I loved working with the people. And it wasn't the serving. I did one hundred and eleven different things in the church and I loved every part of it. It was navigating authority that wouldn't listen, that wouldn't take the time to break things down and fix issues that came up, that shook its head instead of asking questions or having a desire to make things right. A leadership style that told you in one way or other, "This is just how it is." That kind of authority creates a special kind of tired. And I see the same thing happening in furniture flipping. A piece can take a lot out of you, your time, your patience, your creativity. You pour yourself into it and when it leaves your shop, it feels like a little piece of yourself goes with it, doesn't it? I remember the first few pieces that I sold, two in particular. One lady took two of my pieces and we agreed to deliver them, and when we delivered them and set them down in their home, man, it was hard to walk away from them. We settled up. She gave me the money. She thanked me, told me what she was going to use them for. Then I went back and I just ran my hand over the top of one of the pieces and she said, "Are you having a hard time leaving it?" I had to laugh. You do. You pour yourself into it. It leaves your shop, you take your money and you feel this sadness. But then you look down at the money and then you get happy again, right? So this process can get heavy. When the joy fades, when you start wondering if you ever want to keep going. Sometimes it's not that you're done. Sometimes you're just tired of the fight. Tired of explaining. Tired of dealing with difficult customers. Tired of a design that doesn't go right. Or tired of the feedback that you get online. Tired of being told that's normal. Tired of settling for good enough when you know better is possible. Fatigue makes everyone feel permanent. Having the right perspective reminds us that it isn't. Those difficult times. You know, I used to tell this to moms that are worn out or adoptive moms that were running into trouble. I'd say, "Just keep reminding yourself, this too shall pass." As we learn more, as we get more experience, this too shall pass. So don't let difficult situations, whether it's with people or your furniture, get you to quit. Sometimes the bravest thing we do is not quitting, but resting, regrouping and refusing to hand over our discernment. Because finding the joy in the journey is still possible, even if you've lost it. Getting our confidence back and finding the inspiration to create again is possible. And when it comes, it can feel like seeing the world clearly again for the first time. I've mentioned before that I'm working on my business. I have an online business, I have a membership, Furniture Flipping Blueprint, and I've been working diligently on changing my business in so many parts. It's like I'm redoing everything one hundred percent. So I left off creating, I left off painting for a while and did all of my online work, and I'm still working through it. I'm almost done. But that break and seeing things come together renewed my inspiration, renewed my desire to paint again. And now I'm at full on painting again. Sometimes you just need a break. You know noise kills creativity. And we live in a noisy world, don't we? But when that creativity, when that inspiration comes back, Oh, boy. Come up with ideas, designs, that you never would have if you hadn't taken that break. If you're newer and still figuring things out, I've put my free resource guide in the show notes. So go take a look, click on it, download it and look through that and see if there's something in there that you need that will help you on your journey. And thanks for listening. I love this podcast. I love reaching out to other furniture flippers, and I love helping when there's a need. God bless.