Carpentry with an Empty Head

I think I may be starting to feel better. Here and there, I find myself building things, small things with nothing in my head. Well, not nothing, just things bouncing around in there that should be in my head when I’m building something. Like where the mark (*crows foot) was in relationship to the mark on the tape, the line and where the inside edge of the carbide tip on the saw blade should hit.
Which side of the board should be the finished side and which end should be cut off. These are useful things to have in my head when I’m building things. I’ve noticed I can go big chunks of time without my mind wandering to gross margin, the L&I hearing, our home based business permit or the last five percent that the Turner’s won’t pay. I hardly ever think about whether I should advertise in one phone book or all four. It wouldn’t make sense to go for two or three. If I do more than the one I use, how could I possibly know which one is the next best? Might as well do them all if I do more than one. Big if.
Point is, I’m finding joy in making things with wood. I get satisfaction from tearing apart, fixing and cleaning up while I smack the dust off my pants with my dirty hands. This is new. For much of the last four years, I’ve considered getting rid of my truck and driving a car. I wouldn’t need a bunch of work clothes (I have a pile), toolboxes or a collection of scratched safety glasses and semi-wax impregnated earplugs. I have, in this recovery season, gone for long stretches of time having the imagined car-for-transportation situation lodged in my head in the planning zone without question. “Yep,” I’ve said sub-consciously, “I’ll be a regular car driver and it won’t even be a wagon.” No excuses, a clean break.
From Reality…
Who am I kidding? I’m a carpenter. I make stuff out of wood. I fix broken houses and barns and shops and decks. If I don’t, my brain overheats. Sawdust, splinters, calluses and saws (and hammers and nails and screws –preferably star drive - and drills) are part of my real identity. My healing, growth and glory are tied to making things out of wood. It keeps me from getting to augured (think really big drill) in to a line of thought or obsessing on something too far past the point of objectivity. Though there is a bit of distance beyond objectivity that I am quite fond of.
Being able to stand back and evaluate a physical object I have shaped and connected is a rite of passage for that day with clear evidence of my participation. I cannot maintain a healthy balance without some focused involvement from my hands and the tools they wield as weapons against my tendency to micromanage my brain and its disconcerting contents.
How did I forget this? What horrific and dramatic tragedy could have distracted me from this simple, obvious and elemental truth? I’ve been thinking on it. I’ve pondered, stopped and returned to the question and I think the answer is…
None.
The tragedy is what has brought me back to it. The drama is the re-instigator. The truth has always been there, always been ringing in harmony with the beat of my heart, the wavelengths of my brain and the slight curl of my fingers that wrap so naturally around the handle of a tool.
It has been a loss born of so many great opportunities. Opportunities only a fool would pass up. So I didn’t – I’m no fool after all. I love that line “he won’t suffer a fool,” and I surely am not and don’t want to be one. So, when I, by the strength of my great intellect and perceptivity (please note element of sarcasm), recognize the great opportunity that would identify me as a fool if I passed it up, I don’t. I didn’t pass it up. I jumped on it with a ferocity and determination that I’m sure was impressive. After all, I’m a smart guy with great ideas, lots of them. Give me enough time and they will all link together and then we’ll all see how great this plan is.
But, in and of itself, standing alone on my shoulders, it was not a great plan. Maybe it had some good elements, but essentially, a lot of good ideas of which only a few should be immediately in play. The rest are just hints of good things to come. Some are even completely foolish ideas. Sigh. No consoling warranted.
I would have known (maybe) if I had spent more time cutting and sanding with an empty head. But I figured I had risen above that. I had responsibility to maintain the connectivity and momentum of a million different ideas and opportunities that would be missed if I stopped to make a chair or a birdhouse or a flower out of wood scraps. So, I stayed at my desk on the phone, writing systems, going to meetings and re-organizing the ideas again.
Now, I’m sorry. Not so much an issue of regret as realization. I am humbled and thankful. I am back a bit. I have returned to something familiar and real and whole and I like it. I am back to liking the wood and the dust and the fixing of things. I should not have forgotten, not have neglected.
However, my hope and my thankfulness and the smile I feel at the end of the day as I look upon what I have done come from remembering. Not forgetting is an art and I’m dabbling. I would not know the joy of remembering had I not forgotten and it is a very good joy.

* Crow’s Foot: it’s a little arrow shaped point I make with my carpenters pencil so I know where to cut. It’s never really at exactly the point the cut should be so when I’m in the groove, there is a constant re-adjusting that happens as I pay attention to the relationship between the measuring tape, the marks, the lines and the saw blade.