You know, when I first heard that phrase, “We Were Meant For Each Other,” my mind immediately went to the typical stuff. Boy meets girl, violins start playing, the whole nine yards. That’s what most folks think, and for a good while, I was right there with them. But my own “practice” with this idea, the way I really came to understand it, well, it took a completely different path.
My Early Stumbles
I started out, like many, trying to fit into molds that just weren’t shaped for me. I chased jobs that sounded good on paper, the kind your parents would be proud to tell their friends about. I remember this one office gig, oh boy. Staring at a screen all day, shuffling papers, pretending to look busy. It paid the bills, sure, but every evening I’d come home feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. There was no spark, no feeling of, “Yeah, this is it!”
I tried a few different things after that. I even thought about going back to school, maybe learn a completely new trade. But nothing really clicked. It felt like I was just drifting, trying on different hats, but none of them felt like they truly belonged on my head. It was frustrating, you know? Like searching for something without even knowing what you’re looking for.
The Unexpected Turn
Then, something quite unexpected happened. My old shed out back was falling apart. I mean, literally. The door was hanging off one hinge, and the roof leaked every time it rained. I didn’t have a lot of money to hire someone, so I figured, “Well, how hard can it be to fix a shed?” Famous last words, right?
So, I went out, bought some basic tools – a hammer, a saw, some nails. I started small, just trying to patch things up. I watched a bunch of videos online, read a few old manuals I found at a flea market. It was slow going at first. I hit my thumb with the hammer more times than I care to admit. My first few cuts with the saw were crooked as a dog’s hind leg.
- I remember spending a whole weekend just trying to get one shelf level.
- My wife would bring me out lemonade, shaking her head and smiling.
- There were moments I wanted to just throw the tools down and call it quits.
Finding My Groove
But a funny thing happened. The more I worked with my hands, the more I got into it. I started to actually enjoy the challenge. I liked the smell of fresh-cut wood. I liked the feeling of taking something broken and making it whole again. That old shed, it wasn’t just getting repaired; it was becoming my little project, my escape.
After I finally got the shed looking decent, I didn’t stop. I built a small workbench inside. Then I made a birdhouse. Then a wobbly, but functional, bookshelf for the living room. Each little thing I made, it wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. But it was mine. I had made it. And that feeling, that was something new.
It wasn’t about romance, or another person. For me, “we were meant for each other” turned out to be about me and this newfound passion for making things, for working with my hands. It was like a part of me that had been asleep for years finally woke up. It wasn’t a sudden lightning bolt, more like a slow, warm sunrise. I realized I wasn’t meant for those stuffy offices. I was meant for something more tangible, something real.
So yeah, that’s my take on it. Sometimes, the thing you’re “meant for” isn’t a person, but a feeling, a craft, a way of being that just fits you perfectly. And you might just stumble upon it when you’re busy trying to fix a leaky shed.
