How a Thing is Made

2024.07.22

Good morning that wonderful way.

Happy day. All day long.

We have this way about us, these things we do.

Why not go for the prize?

That light in your eyes?

Why not make a way?

Why not take down the walls?

A sledgehammer to get some satisfaction?

Why not crush the opposition with your dream's passionate ambition?

Because the way we do something, the how matters as much, maybe more, as the what.

The ends never justify the means.

Because the means are always part of the sum.

Our actions are ingredients.

It's why Mom's Mac and Cheese tastes better than the restaurants.

There's love in that.

We ingest and digest the love.

Really, we do.

How we do something is always part of the finished product.

It's why the Made in China trinkets of our life so rarely last, and why when used, the actions they bring are quick get it done, momentary successes.

There's no emotional content in the thing, and so there's no emotional content in the actions that thing allows.

A life of cold machine machinations.

Foundationless gadgets made in a distant land with no connection to our immediate concern.

The end user, and use, is of little value to the producer of the thing, so there's no story in it and so there's no room for story in it.

Soulless trinkets whose psuedo-story is a quick profit to paint penny pictures where a wealthy healthy experience ought to be.

The rocking chair in the living room from Beijing is not the rocking chair made by Bob the carpenter down the street.

A carbon emitting, smog emitting, factory is not Bob's garage workshop.

There's no love in that warehouse, no attention to detail.

And so, each time you sit in that chair is a loveless enterprise, versus a rest on a prize made with the care and concern of a craftsman's pride.

And it lasts.

A chair passed down generation to generation.

Not a better get a new one from Walmart every few years, scrap it when we move, there's little room in the moving truck monstrosity.

How a thing is made, and why, matters so much more than we recognize it does.

S.J. Wynn
+he Ghos+