Branching Out

“Man does not simply exist but always decides what his existence will be, what he will become the next moment. By the same token, every human being has the freedom to change at any instant.”–Viktor Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning

It has been a while since my last post. I was diligently working on a move, preparing to sell the old house, getting the new house ready, moving in, unpacking, cleaning, and making small repairs and upgrades. I was working so hard and, with living in a new place, I had completely lost any semblance of a routine.

Not too long ago, I was getting a bit antsy in anticipation. There’s a period before a life transition when you cannot wait until that change finally takes place. It’s the desire to return to a sense of normalcy and stability. I felt on edge being surrounded by my belongings in stacks of boxes, knowing how much still lied ahead of me before getting settled again.

Now that I’m semi-settled, it was time to return to my writing. I had written previously about making other life decisions and deferring them to a later date after the move. While I haven’t made many firm decisions on my career options yet, I’ve been reflecting on it all extensively during this time. When you see artifacts of your entire life in front of you, instead of buried in a closet somewhere, it’s easier to look back at those years. Many forgotten feelings rose to the surface.

I also thought about my father, who had surgery in April to remove a cancerous tumor from his knee. As I write this, he’s recovering nicely and regaining some of his mobility. It wasn’t just that episode, but the fact that life and the accumulation of years often get in the way of plans and projects. When this occurred, he had plenty of projects left unfinished, goals yet to attain, and an even greater sum of tools and equipment from the many phases of his life and career. Many of those tools will never be used again, and others haven’t been used in over 30 years. I couldn’t help but think about my own priorities and the need to keep my goals within a narrower sphere of focus. Perhaps that would help me not have as many open loops at the same time.

I moved out of a home where one of my neighbors was 95 years old. Still walking. Still kicking. One of my new neighbors is 93 years old. Wow, to imagine what one can accomplish within such a time frame. If I ever lived that long, it would be interesting to think about what a well-lived life would look like for me. Some want to travel the world. Others want to write that novel. Some just want to raise great children. Many just want to be happy with their choices, no matter what. What’s my definition of a well-lived life? Perhaps understanding that will help me come up with a better list of priorities. I’ve always pursued meaning in my work. It can be found in different aspects of life, but I’m one of those work-oriented people.

Maybe I’ve lived too much of my life meeting the expectations of others. They’re actually kind of low, to be honest. Get an education. Get a job. Earn money. Get married. Buy that house. Check, check, check, check, and check. Now what? These alone do not determine the quality of a life. They help. They’re a great foundation, but they are not ends unto themselves. These feel like beginnings to me. Sadly, many others in my generation have not realized even these things. They may be pushing forty and still haven’t accomplished some of those goals.

These goals are merely the expectations society has placed on us—what’s supposed to come with the territory of being an adult. The pressure is high. I’m not even so sure these goals are necessarily right for everyone. They can seem like a baseline. Okay, I’ve got the house in the suburbs, a great spouse, yada yada, but is your epitaph going to read, “Here lies Jeff. He had a house, a wife, a job, some kids, whatever”? Better to read, “Here lies Jeff. He always made everyone smile,” or “Here lies Jeff, who could fix anything.”

Anyway, the funny thing is that so much emphasis is placed on these rites of passage for adults and less on what gives life meaning. If you seek meaning and happiness first, perhaps the rest falls into place. You will find success because you will become a magnet to it. It seems counterintuitive, but it doesn’t have to be a struggle of inserting square pegs into round holes: working hard to earn money to have these things, only to find out later that you lack meaning in your life. Better to have meaning first. Something that drives you. Nourishes you. Sustains you rather than burns you out.

Imagine how much more engaged you would be. How much more attractive as a person you could be when you’re glowing because you’re doing what you’re meant to be doing, as opposed to what you think you should be doing. Being present and not merely going through the motions. It’s more of a vocation and less of something that just pays the bills. I think those other rites of passage will happen more naturally at that point, and if some of them don’t, who cares? You’re already fulfilled.

Maybe it’s a crisis of creativity. We are taught to seek stability, income, prestige, and status over fulfillment and purpose. I think somewhere along those lines, creativity is pushed aside in favor of adapting to circumstances you weren’t particularly meant for.

Sadly, what drives me hasn’t manifested into some sort of coherent business plan as of yet. During the course of the last seven years, and through this classroom of starting a business, running the business, and attempting to derive meaning from it, I am now much more aware of what itches need to be satisfied in order to have a meaningful vocation. It was like experimenting with a baking recipe. You add a little of this, a dash of that, perhaps next time subtract this ingredient and add another instead, and eventually you find that perfect combination that satiates your cravings.

Simply stated, I want to leave everything in a better place than how I found it. Nothing gives me more joy than fixing broken things, improving something, or making a positive impact. My skills of perception, pattern recognition, and that part of my personality that is always on the hunt for areas of improvement should be my primary focal points. No other type of work will suffice.

I’ve spent many years professionally, and with my small business, making things. I’ve enjoyed that, but after a while it becomes an assembly line of sorts. Whether it was churning out drawings and designs or patterns and stained glass objects, it all eventually started to feel a bit flat. I don’t particularly enjoy the churn. I enjoy the improvements that have long-lasting effects. Just within my personal life, when I replace a broken light fixture or fix an annoying, chronic issue within my house, I feel immense satisfaction. I can rest assured that this problem has been taken care of for the rest of my life. Completion. Closed loops. I live for such things.

We find ourselves in a time when the temporary, the disposable, and the instantly gratifying are the de rigueur. I can’t help but believe that so many people these days are depressed and unfulfilled for some of the same reasons I am: you’re just there for the quick churn. Your work doesn’t stand the test of time. Your work isn’t enjoyed by future generations. Your work doesn’t inspire future generations. No wonder we feel so disconnected. We feel like our lives do not make an impact.

Previous generations left a legacy of cathedrals, infrastructural monoliths, new inventions, discoveries, and innovations. Maybe current generations are beginning to wonder if they will mostly leave behind piles of garbage and digital artifacts no one will ever see in the future unless they become viral memes. These current generations need to articulate exactly what the problem is in order to find a solution, but I feel like we’ve been mostly preoccupied with numbing the symptoms rather than tackling the cause of the disease.

It is not a system that’s the culprit, at least not entirely, but an addiction to novelty. We’ve become too successful at churn. Everything we consume, from physical products to digital products, is so widely available that we can’t help but buy the new thing or scroll our way to some new interesting story or meme.

But that success is hollow. What stands the test of time, what requires the most effort to achieve, and the distance between the start and the end goal is where meaning lies. Industrialization has changed the world. It has produced more products and services quickly and cheaply, and it has placed them in the hands of more people. We have become so productive that everything begins to lose its value. It’s like the value of gold. It’s rare for now, but if someone discovers the motherlode—thousands of times more gold than anyone has ever discovered—the value of gold will fall to the floor. It will become as common as weeds in the grass. No one wants to feel like their work is just as common. Do we have to consciously go back to producing things in smaller batches, locally, of higher quality, and by taking our time to ever feel like it’s all worth it again?

I feel like this is the crux of the matter. If I’m ever blessed to live long enough to see my 90s, I can’t spend the rest of these years living under these mismatched circumstances. I want to do something about it, and I want others to share in anything I discover.

With that, I will be branching out into new endeavors. At the end of the year, at the shop’s seventh anniversary, I will be closing up shop at Hallowed Oak Designs. I need to free up the time and capital for other efforts. My Instagram account will become a personal one again, and I’ll still work on stained glass, 3D printing, and whatnot, but just for my own purposes. I’ll share anything I make, improve, or any other announcements as time goes on.

This is not the end of me writing down my thoughts either. Some other Substacks are in the works. I’d like to thank everyone who has purchased anything from me, encouraged me, followed me, read my posts, and supported me in any other way. I sincerely appreciate all of it.

George
Hallowed Oak Designs