Lessons from my sawdust sabbatical

I’ve spent much of my free time over the past three years enacting the opening scene of a Procter & Gamble commercial: standing at the back door, dirt caked to my boots, sawdust in my hair, palms lined with grease or paint or glue or clay, cautiously considering the distance between me and the shower. I’d have spent most of the day ensconced in the basement or garage, making useful objects in a variety of materials, invariably making a racket and a mess.

As I’ve started having conversations again recently about “real jobs”, I’ve found myself questioning whether the three years I’ve spent outside of the workforce, aside from offering an opportunity to recharge (and to test the outer limits of our washing machine and vacuum), might be at all relevant to what I do next. What does making a mess in the basement have to do with white collar employment?

Perhaps more than I initially thought. Apart from the hard skills, like how to break down a sheet of plywood or change my own oil, or self-knowledge, like the dawning realization that overalls are my favorite item of clothing, three years of working with my hands has provided me with practices and lessons I’ve found endlessly relevant. Here are a few:

1. Knowledge is as much about time and effort as it is aptitude. As someone who often quips that my undergraduate education qualifies me to do “anything and nothing”, I’ve generally been comfortable stepping into new industries or disciplines with the confidence that I can learn quickly enough to keep up. But when necessity prompted me to consider installing an irrigation system or replacing a part in my 30-year-old Jeep, I’d find myself thinking, “Maybe you’re not that kind of guy.” For some reason the application of a craft or skill felt daunting in a way that the acquisition of abstract knowledge never had. Hesitantly, I figured I might as well look into it, and with a few exceptions, I was gratified to find that things were rarely as complicated as I had imagined them to be. Most things are knowable if you’re willing to put in the time and effort and can push past the initial hesitation. (Although there’s an important sub-bullet here about intellectual humility and knowing how much you still don’t know, before you go all Dunning-Kruger.)

2. Process is progress. In the past I’ve often been impatient to finish, to get ahead, to reach for the next rung on the ladder, but in forcing myself to repeatedly be a beginner at something, I’ve started to appreciate process as integral to progress. I’ve taken to reframing some of my most frustrating days — where I’m making mistakes and everything is slower or harder than I think it should be — by solemnly announcing, as if from the Book of Genesis: “There was learning.” It doesn’t make it magically enjoyable, but it’s a reminder that I’m still making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it. I find that even on a 10-mile run, when in the past I might have gotten caught up in how I was feeling or how much longer I had to go, now I just focus on taking the next step. Valuing the process helps ensure that you arrive at all.

3. The importance of the right tool. Early on, when my only goal was to build a fence for our yard, I did it with the intention of purchasing as few tools as possible, figuring that I could just use some combination of brute force and ingenuity to work through the trickier parts. Now, after three years of projects, I am a huge proponent of spending the time or money to get the right tool for the job. The work becomes easier, faster, and more enjoyable, and the end product is orders of magnitude better. Recognize when the work requires better tools, whether that’s another set of hands, expertise, or that particular type of wrench.

4. The value of preparation. When I started many of my first projects, I was excited to get going, and I’d just jump in. And then I’d end up having to make eight more trips to the hardware store, or do a bit more research, or redo my design altogether. Now I’m methodical about preparation — understanding my process, making sure I have the right tools and materials at hand, and looking ahead for potential challenges — and I think being able to anticipate and avoid unforeseen complications is as integral to mastering a craft as the application of any particular technique. Thinking back on the many times I’ve started blindly chasing after a goal, only to realize I had to make another proverbial trip to the hardware store, I realize the time and effort and frustration I could have saved myself. It’s the difference between reactivity and intentionality. Preparation is key.

5. Connections across disciplines. As I moved beyond woodworking and started picking up ceramics or sewing, I noticed that much of my hard-won woodworking knowledge ended up paying dividends in other areas. Appreciating the importance of and technique behind precise measurement, for instance, ended up being just as important when working in fabric as in wood. My newfound appreciation of preparation carried over into my cooking (my mise en place is now much improved). More broadly, having developed a repeatable framework for skill acquisition made tackling that next project far less daunting. Inviting connections across disciplines can lead to an overall acceleration in output and skill and often pays compounding benefits.

6. Anticipating your unknowns. In the early days of working on our house, I repeatedly underestimated the time or level of difficulty each project would entail. (My wife, somehow, always knew.) I’d start out hopeful, confident, empowered, and then, upon the inevitable discovery that, “Hey, our ductwork isn’t anything like in the Youtube video,” what had been a fun and empowering learning experience would feel like a slog. Now I know well enough to recognize that you never know what you’re working with until you tear open the wall. Being able to identify and prepare for the big unknowns (or to focus on turning them into “knowns” as early as possible) is a key to doing any project effectively and on-time. You can’t count on anything until you tear open the wall.

7. The work you can do versus the work you should do. It’s important to recognize the work you’re capable of doing versus the work that is actually valuable for you to do. That ductwork project, along with hanging drywall and pouring concrete for 30 fence posts, ended up being the former. I’m glad I did them, but once was enough, and someone else can do those jobs better and more quickly than I can. This applies to company-building as much as homebuilding — is this work worth doing, or are you better off farming it out and spending your time on something more interesting or more valuable?

8. End with a win. I came across this advice in a bunch of books on creativity, and I took it to heart. In general, but especially when developing a new skill, end your day with a win. That way, you can keep your spirits high and come back tomorrow excited for more. I learned this the hard way early on, as I’d scramble to finish something before dark and then just end up having made mistakes I’d need to later correct and feeling worn out and frustrated. Most of the goals and deadlines we set for ourselves are quite arbitrary, so I think it’s better to find a good time to quit than to keep pushing until you just can’t anymore. This can apply to individual projects or entire careers.

...Or essays. And that feels like a good place to stop.

More writing, hopefully with less of a self-congratulatory tone, in a few days.