The other day my son and I were talking about this little stool. You see, I build furniture and I have since before he was born. And apparently he thought I was just brought into this world with my dream list of tools I would like to fill my imaginary shop with. But really it all started with this shabby, beautifully imperfect stool.
I had seen a similar one in a store but as a dirt poor newlywed college student I had a hard time even affording jelly that had real fruit listed on the label for my PB&J. That stool was wildly out of the question. But I did have a terrible little jigsaw that would usually work during a full moon if I whispered sweet nothings to it and said a prayer or two. And as soon as I found out there were 1x3 boards that came with your own set of monstrous slivers for under $2 how could I resist? I had never built anything in my life but couldn't see how that was relevant.
By the time my husband got home from work that night our little apartment was covered in saw dust (wait, most people don't cut wood and build things in their living rooms?...oops.), the dog was chilling in the corner looking a little concerned about all the banging, sawing and rants of frustration, and I was screwing in the last screws of my very first masterpiece. Okay so maybe it looked like it may have been inspired by Picasso, but if his can be called a masterpiece, why not mine? To some (okay most) it may seem a bit wonky, but to others (like my mom perhaps? Or maybe just a pathetically broke college student) it is wonderful.
Now you may be wondering why on earth I've told you more than you ever wanted to know about our lovely yellow stool. Well, my son walks into my bedroom, looks at our big beautiful headboard and long shelves that he watched me slave over for days turning a pile of lumber into my masterpieces and thinks I must just have a gift. He thinks it is my natural ability and wishes he could do that too. He hadn't known I had built our little yellow stool that could've been designed by Dr. Seuss. But most importantly, until our conversation about that little yellow stool, he had no idea how long it has taken me to finally create pieces that are great. He didn't see all the ones that were awful or that I had to fix or scrap all together. He didn't see all the ragged edges of pieces cut with that temperamental jigsaw. He mostly sees the best things I've made. The ones we've kept and loved. And not all the work it took to get there.
Still lost? What I'm saying is don't we all do this? We look at what someone else can do and think it must come naturally or easily to them. They are so lucky that they can_____. I wish _______ came as easily to me as it does to them! They must have been born with that amazing talent! And if I had the best tools everything would come out just as wonderfully. But you know what? Most of the time things take work. Most of the time there's a serious learning curve where you will get things wrong a few times. And most of the time people give up because they don't think they have the magic gift that is required. But more often than not the magic gift is plain old hard work. That's all. Go try. Then try again. And again. And again. You will learn and get better at it- whatever "it" may be. And if you keep at it, someday someone will wonder how you got so lucky to be born with such a gift.
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