You know the projects. The formerly shiny ones. The ones in paper bags, that elevate your blood pressure when you think of them. The ones that haven't seen forward progress in months. Or years. Let them go. I'm officially giving you permission. You can grieve. Sure. Look at me. I'll never restore a vintage stove, even though it was my heart's desire for twenty years. As my big pandemic project, I finally bought one. Took it apart even. Then it sat. And sat. And sat. I sold it this weekend, all 15 boxes of it. The tears I shed as the buyers drove away were partly because they seemed even less competent than me and partly because, well, you know, that whole remorse of failure crap. Get over it, just like I did, when I walked down to the basement, looked at my work table, and saw...nothing. The work surface was bare. Free. Just like me. And now, the most deliciously, delightful question us makers can ever ask...what's my next project?
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