‘If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.’
I remember this quote from my dad as we were doing something in the garage. I dunno what he was talking about, but the line stayed with me.
It took a long time for me to find a job I thought worth doing in life, so usually good enough was enough.
But this quote has lived in my brain since childhood.
I’m lucky enough to have a good brain and a sharp memory, which made school a breeze. I never had to bust my balls to get good grades but I was often bored. Nothing interested me enough to give it my everything.
University was Extreme School, super boring and totally uninteresting. I realised I was better off dropping out and working in finance – despite the fact that studying finance was boring as batshit for me.
Employment was the same deal: doing something I’m not interested in at a level that put me a cut above the rest, but never putting my heart into it.
Eight years into career imprisonment I was diagnosed with testicular cancer.
I realised that you just die, and you can never know when. That shook things up enough for me to think about the question ‘what do you WANT to do? What job is worth doing?’
The association between losing a testicle and having no passion was also not lost on me.
In the surreal period following the orchidectomy (removal of a testicle) I met someone who threw me into complete head-over-heels territory. The spark of life and the passion for living exploded into reality, through romantic love.
A year later I packed up my life, broke free from my career shackles, and followed my heart to Germany.
The reception was lukewarm, but it felt fine, because I was passionate about what I was doing.
There were more than a few signs that I was head-over-heels, while she was simply toes-in-the-pond, but a defining moment in the saga was when I decided to do something I’d never done.
After I left Germany, I travelled to London and met a friend who has insanely fancy tastes and also enjoyed knitting. I decided I would knit this girl a scarf.
My friend took me to get the most fancy, expensive wool possible, and she gave me the downlow on how to knit a scarf.
The wool flew with me to India, where I met another girl who, when I said I needed to find a sewing shop, lit up as she asked ‘oh are you a knitter?!’, excitement flashing from her eyes.
She walked me through it, bit by bit, and I spent a week sitting on a couch in a hostel knitting the best possible scarf that I could make.
I repeated the pattern consistently, I put purls in it (annoying, as any knitter will tell you!) I saved every thread that I dropped, and numerous other things that I no longer have the knitting vocabulary for. And it was fucking amazing.
I was insanely proud of my efforts, and I enjoyed every minute of knitting this thing. My friend said ‘that’s not good for a beginner, that’s good for someone who knows how to knit’ and I exploded in joy.
I was flying high for weeks, excited to finally give her this masterpiece, certain this would be the act that would swindle her into the pond alongside me.
Fast-forward 10 months. I got back to Germany, and the gift-giving went like this:
Me: ‘So nice to see you, I’ve got a gift for you!’
Her: ‘Oh wow, thank you so much!’
(I’m paraphrasing here)
Her: *opens gift, takes out scarf, looks at it and smiles*
Her: ‘oh, that’s so nice, thanks’.
Her: *never refers to the scarf ever again, I never hear another word about the scarf, all my confidence slowly starts to fall back in on itself*
This was seven years ago, and I’ve worn the memory of the scarf around my neck like a noose, a reminder that putting effort into things is a waste of time.
But over time I realised I didn’t knit a scarf, I knitted a lasso to catch and pull her in.
I saw that I had expectations, and my expectations weren't met, so then I had a tantrum and behaved like a baby.
But the process of knitting the scarf? The process of finding the idea and the wool, connecting with people in other parts of the world to bring it together?
That was a genuine labour of love, and that pride that I felt when I finished the scarf, was all for me.
It made me think about the value and quality we give to things. Whether you do things half-assed or all-in may not necessarily change the value of the product, but it embodies your intention and weaves it into what you’re doing.
You put your life and your love into something, and that act is the quality, that love is the quality. The product that comes out of it is just a thing.
I’ve been more aware of the effort and intention I bring to things since then, and I’m careful to check my motivations and intentions. I don’t want to knit a noose for myself or anyone else.
I want to weave a way through the world that makes everyone feel good about their time here, and the best way I know to do that is with heart. That feels like the sort of work that I can show up and do every day.
That’s a job worth doing, and it’s worth doing well.
Unmet expectations. They’re killer if you can’t see them for what they are. I recently watched a 15 year friendship die because someone had unmet expectations they could not get past.
Your heart is precious Nick, I enjoyed reading this labour of love.
I was able to witness your intention, while reflecting on my own.
The garage is where magic is spoken, just ask Morty.