It’s Okay to Hate the Process
I love being in the shop. The smell, the textures, the sounds, and all that glorious wood piled around. It’s a place of peace, but at some point in every project I have to drag myself out there because I just want the piece to be done.
That point happens at a different spot in every project. Sometimes during the drudgery of sanding, others when joinery never seems to end. The constant is the feeling. A mixture of doubt, uncertainty, and frustration at your slow progress despite all the effort.
I hate that feeling. Not because it’s present, but because it makes me seem ungrateful. Certainly I am lucky to be able to build things that people appreciate.
Then I read something.
The famous artist Michelangelo hated painting the Sistine Chapel. He despised the four years of contorting his body, craning his neck back, and holding his arms above his head only to be greeted with paint falling in his eyes. But despite all of Michelangelo’s pain and suffering he persevered to create one of the most renowned works of art to ever exist.
It makes me wonder what he thought of his work years later. Standing there gazing upon the figures of his own creation, was the loathing still there or was he proud of the accomplishment? Had he forgotten the pain and replaced it with only the good parts.
As I write this I’m gazing upon one of my finer furniture projects from a year ago. I know it was tough because it was right around the time I had developed planter fasciitis from standing for long hours on the concrete floors in a worn out pair of shoes, but as I reflect all I can remember are the good parts.
Things like when I was halfway through the project and the structure came together for the first time, prompting me to immediately run inside, dragging my wife into the garage to show her how it looks (granted, I do this at some point in every project).
Then there was the moment when the glass delivery came in. I was so nervous it wouldn't fit I had been stressing about it for a week. As I gently lifted the glass and started sliding it in to place I realized it was very tight, but slowly the glass descended until it satisfyingly thumped perfectly into it's spot and I beamed.
Or that final moment when the hinges were adjusted, the doors were on, ready for that first push to swing close rapidly until the soft close mechanism engaged and the door slowly moved into place.
It’s the moments like these that make me realize I can simply shrug off the doubt, ignore the struggle, and accept that it is okay to enjoy an activity without loving every single part.
