I saw this piece, you see, about the young ones, about their apps, about the tools. Proof of competency, they ask. For a wrench, for a stud finder. It made me pause, just for a moment, and reflect on the quiet battles we all face.
They seek to measure proficiency, to quantify the ability to assemble a flat-pack dream. And I think, isn't this what we have always done? Sought some tangible evidence of worth, some sign that the person across the table, or across the ring, can hold their own, can fix what breaks. Life, you know, it's a series of broken things, isn't it? Little fractures in the everyday, big cracks in the foundations of the soul. And we are all just trying to patch them up, with whatever tools we have at hand.
A relationship, it's not a single round, it’s a whole card, a relentless twelve-round bout against entropy itself. You’re not just throwing punches; sometimes, you're tightening bolts on the ring, making sure the ropes hold, making sure the canvas doesn’t tear. And if your partner, your corner man, can’t even wield a screwdriver, what then? Do you fight alone, or does the whole thing collapse around you, leaving you in the dust of unfinished projects and unspoken needs?
I felt a quiet sadness for them, these young souls, navigating a world that asks them to build a bookshelf before they’ve even built a trust. Marcus Aurelius, or perhaps it was my old sparring coach, once whispered to me in a moment of exhaustion, “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” And here, the impediment, the very hurdle, is the assembly of a simple table. It is a strange, new arena.
We all seek to build something, don't we? A life, a love, a quiet moment of peace before the next bell rings. And perhaps, demanding proof of their ability to build a table is not so much about the table itself, but about the fear that they cannot build a life. That the emptiness, the vast, unfinished rooms of the soul, will remain echoing, cold and unadorned. And sometimes, all you have is an Allen wrench and a prayer, hoping it's enough to hold everything together, just for one more round.
