It’s almost midnight, I’m working on an action plan for a very important interview tomorrow morning, and I find that when doubt begins to come to my mind I glance – funnily enough – at my little bench sitting on the opposite side of the small living room.  Made of cherry wood, constructed with through dovetails and wedged tenons, its design is very simple, but it is very fine. I own a piece of fine furniture.

I made a piece of fine furniture. Maybe that’s what really keeps me Power-Pointing on about process improvements.  My ego needs a good stroke every now and then, keeps the static electricity flowing, and knowing that I *made* a thing that is functional and beautiful, something that will last for fifty, ninety, maybe even a few centuries with proper care is certainly a sturdy self-pat on the back.

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