A few years ago my girlfriend needed a coffee table. It needed to be low enough to the ground that she could sit on the floor (I thought it was weird too) and still eat at it. We could have found one online, exchanged money for it and brought it home. She might’ve taken it when she moved, or sold it or threw it away if that was easier — she could always buy another coffee table. But we didn’t do that. Instead, I took the leap and decided to build her one.
We humans have a long history of making things. In order to become the masters of our environment — thus paving the way for agriculture, society and the specialization that, today, allows us enough free time to get into arguments on Twitter — we created tools that made gathering resources easier and built shelters to protect us from the elements. It is our ability to harness our surroundings and use them to survive that makes us special, and it has allowed us, for better or worse, to dominate the planet.
Today, that great tradition of making is dwindling. Yes, it’s true that humans still produce tools, build shelters and create products. But while American auto-workers of the early 20th century “made” cars on an assembly line, it was a hollow act, lacking the creativity and individualism that craftsmanship requires. As the process becomes more autonomous and machines become increasingly responsible for the products we buy, the things we make lose that which makes them personal. The distinction that something is “hand-made” is evidence that we can tell the difference.
Making something is, unfortunately, not as simple as putting together an Ikea table. When you have truly made something, you have put your soul into it. You have tried and failed and succeeded and learned. You’ve gone off-script, been frustrated, despaired and triumphed. It is a hard and sometimes unforgiving process, and the final product never looks quite like it did in your head.
Now, my girlfriend has a coffee table. It is by no objective standard perfect, marked by inexperience and many small failures. But she took it with her when she moved and will take it with her when she moves again. It will not be absentmindedly thrown away and cannot just be replaced. It is unique because it has a soul of its own, fashioned from creativity and gumption. When she sits at it, she thinks about me, and that makes her happy. When I sit at it, I think about her and my experience making it, and that makes me happy.
This is the power of the things we make. If we have truly put ourselves into it, it becomes special to us and to those it touches. That is why mom-food always tastes so good, why the crappy, hand-drawn birthday cards are the ones you keep, why art and music and film can make us feel deeply. So do yourself a favor and go make something.
