When everything you make is a gift, the people receiving it quietly decide what you learn next.
Walt has made thirty-one cutting boards in his garage, strips of maple and walnut glued, clamped, planed and oiled. Every one has gone to someone: a neighbor's housewarming, a cousin's retirement, and now his niece's wedding in December. He no longer reaches for the tape when he lays out the strips. On the back of a lumber receipt from August is a sketch of a small pine box with dovetailed corners. When his wife picked it up off the bench and asked who it was for, he said, "Nobody yet," and folded it back into his apron pocket.
Giving the boards away is generous, and it kept him in the garage for years. Each gift arrives with a date and a person who would like a board, so the person sets the project, and nobody asks for practice joints. The box will take a few tries, and the first corners will gap. That is the part Walt now finds interesting, and it is the one part with no one to hand it to. He could cut a single test corner in scrap pine this weekend and let the wedding board wait a week. December is still a month off.
What would you work on next if it didn't need a person at the end of it to justify the hours?
Photo: Donald Wu on Unsplash