I worked hard...I achieved...I pursued a professional life as an architect.
Then I discovered the joy of making things
and then of making the things I was making
and then I “progressed” to digging the ditch
so that I could make the things I was making
from the ground up....
Perhaps its a journey to the center and now,
as I type with my remaining 6 fingers
I am wondering if it will be a round trip?
The other 4 fingers will return to something
close enough to normal. I have time.
I find great satisfaction in my independence,
my ability to do it all
but in the same way
that I might criticize an otherwise great restaurant
which has decided to “make their own bread”
Why do I sacrifice my fingers
on the self-created altar of self-sufficiency?
Or my back?
Or my health?
Perhaps with this latest insult I may evolve yet!?