My buddy Michael finally finished his pool last month. Texted me: “Dude, you gotta see this thing. Come over Saturday.” I should’ve said no.
I’ve been in construction for nearly twenty years. It’s what I do. And somewhere along the line, I apparently developed a condition where I can’t just look at a pool anymore.
I show up at Michael’s place around noon. Nice backyard, good-sized pool, stone deck—the whole setup. He’s grinning like a kid on Christmas. “So, what do you think?”
What do I think? I think his coping’s slightly off on the east corner. I think the return jets were installed without thinking about proper circulation. I think his waterfall pump is probably too big and driving up his electric bill.
But what I actually say is: “Looks awesome, man!”
Then I spend the next twenty minutes crouched by his equipment pad like I’m defusing a bomb.
“Henri, what are you doing?” “Uh… just checking your… nothing. Grabbing another soda.”
Karine’s seen this before. Way too many times. We’ve been at Michael’s for maybe thirty minutes when she shoots me The Look. You know the one—the “you’re doing it again” look.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say.
“You’ve been staring at that tile line for five minutes.”
“I’m just—”
“Henri.”
“Okay, but seriously, who would choose matte finish for a pool? Do you have any idea how impossible that is to clean?”
She walks off, taking my soda with her. Fair enough.
Here’s something nobody tells you about getting really good at something: you stop being able to ignore when it’s done wrong—or even just okay.
Michael’s pool? It’s fine. Actually, it’s more than fine. The contractor did a really solid job. If I were a normal person—a civilian—I’d be having a blast right now. Swimming, soaking up the Florida sun.
Instead, I’m mentally redesigning his entire backyard.
My kid comes over, dripping wet.
“Dad, you getting in?”
“Yeah, buddy, in a sec.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
Had I?
I glance around. Michael’s got maybe fifteen people here. Everyone’s in the water or sitting on the edge, laughing, having fun. His neighbor brought burgers. One kid is doing cannonballs. My wife is floating on a raft, clearly ignoring me.
And I’m standing by the pump house. Alone. Like a total weirdo.
Michael walks over. “Alright, real talk — how badly did I mess up?”
“What? No way, man. It’s awesome.”
“Come on, Henri. I’ve watched you pacing around this thing like a shark for two hours. Just tell me straight.”
So I do. The circulation issue, the oversized pump, the tile choice. He nods, taking it all in.
Then he asks, “But do you think people are actually having fun?”
I look around. His kids are racing their friends across the pool. His wife is showing mine the new outdoor kitchen. Guests are everywhere, and nobody’s stuck making awkward small talk.
They’re just… enjoying themselves.
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re having a blast.”
“Then I think I’m good, bro,” he says.
Karine didn’t say a word for the entire drive. Ten minutes of silence passed before she finally spoke:
“You know what Michael has that we don’t?”
I braced myself, thinking she meant a pool. We don’t have a pool—which is ridiculous because I literally build pools for a living. It’s like a chef who never cooks at home or a barber with a messy haircut.
But that’s not what she said.
“He can enjoy things.”
Ouch.
“That’s not—” I started to protest.
“When was the last time you went somewhere without mentally critiquing it? We can’t go to restaurants. We can’t watch home improvement shows. And we definitely can’t go to other people’s pools.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. I’ve become that guy—the one who can’t switch off. Who notices problems instead of possibilities. Work instead of fun.
“I could probably fix that,” I said.
She laughed. “See? You’re doing it right now.”
I want a pool. Not for some deep reason, and not to impress anyone. I just want one because maybe it’ll help my mind slow down. If it’s my pool—built the way I like it, with all the details just right—maybe I can actually relax and enjoy swimming.
Or maybe I’ll just end up focusing on new little issues. New spots that feel off. New things to overthink.
Still, my kids will have a place to hang out with their friends. And Karine can enjoy her Saturday sunbathing at home instead of going to the community pool.
And if I’m standing next to my own pool equipment, quietly complaining about how the water moves around?
At least I’ll be doing it at home.
About the Author:
Henry Pierce is co-owner of aquaelitepool.com, and he brings 15+ years in luxury construction expertise to Aqua Elite Pool, combining engineering precision with designs that transform ordinary spaces into environments where families naturally gather and memories happen. When he’s not building pools, he spends time with his family, reading good books or playing tennis.
