The Satisfaction Of Doing Something Yourself

There’s just something primal and satisfying about being able to do something yourself. 

Why do I say this?  Because I did something last year that a normal person would laugh at and call me a fool.  But don’t be so quick to judge, because I know that a lot of people reading this will be able to relate – in the FI world we don’t take the easy path, we like to roll up our sleeves and get down and dirty in the nitty gritty of things.  

So without further ado, let’s dive into it… 

I had some large trees last year that needed trimming in my backyard, and keep in mind, I’m a renter.  The obvious solution would have been to call my landlord and have it taken care of.  Simple and done. 

But the more I looked up at these trees with a glint in my eye, I saw these long-limbed companions not as someone else’s problem, but my problem.  I felt the challenge growing inside of me like a burning fire.  Fuck it, I’m not going to take the easy way out.  I can do this. 

So, I did. 

I made the trip to Home Depot to be sure I was all stocked up.  Had to get the extra-long tree-trimmer on top of my normal gear, which wasn’t cheap, but I’m investing for the long term here, right?  Oh, no – nothing will be half-assed as I take command and quell these mutinous overgrown branches as if I were a general on the battlefield.  This would be done well, and done right, or it wouldn’t be worth doing at all. 

So, I went home and spent an entire day trimming my trees, showing no mercy against my foe of mother nature.  Climbing up in them like a monkey to get the right angle, hewing, slashing, chopping and lopping with the perverse glee of a child’s natural destruction.  Swinging from branch to perch with a gazelle-like ease that even Tarzan would be envious of.  My wife would yell at me from below to be careful and not crack my head open, but I was on a mission. 

On top of the roof was next, hacking and sawing away like a man possessed.  I was a human beaver obliterating anything in my path.  Sawdust and leaves blowing in my wake as if I were a tornado of tree-trimming prowess.  Muscles aching, sweat glistening, the heat pressing down on me like a burning hand holding my exposed neck.  It was an all-out blitzkrieg of ambition and unbridled will. 

Finally, I stared down at the wreckage that was my yard.  Branches 10 feet long.  Boughs, twigs and offshoots intertwined and coiled so thick scattered light could barely even pierce its way through to the grass underneath.  It was a green wasteland smelling of fresh sap and newly hewn planks.  You couldn’t even hack a path through it if you had a chain saw. 

But I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the garbled mess with the pride of a father at his newborn baby.  This was what success looked like.  This was a job well-done. 

So, what did I do next?  The easy path once again would be to cut them up as quickly as possible and fill up a couple of trash cans.  It would probably only have taken me a few hours.  But no, that would be what a soft chump would do.  I was in it now.  Hardened by the pain, sweat and tears of trudging my own way.  Neck deep and treading water for my life.  I was going to finish this the right way. 

Methodically, like a carpenter practicing their craft, I spent the entire day pruning off leaves and cutting down all the branches to perfect fire-pit sized logs.  Then I took another hour to meticulously stack them on my roof in long rows so that they could spend the entire summer drying out and come next winter, I’d have firewood galore.  Because that was what would have to happen, I’d have to see this lifecycle finish to the end.  It would be a long, arduous nine months of waiting, but patience is something that I don’t have in short supply. 

And that’s how it played out.  Come this past winter I had an arsenal of tinder at my disposal that had resulted by the efforts of my own physical labor (the picture at the top of the post are these beautiful logs burning away).  And it felt good, really good, to watch those hand-hewn logs lap up the flames. 

Because one of my favorite things to do in winter is have a wood burning fire.  As you know, I live in LA, and it doesn’t really get that cold here, but cold enough for me in the winter… haha (yes, if you live in the snow, you’re snickering at what a wimp I am, and you’re right).  Below 60 degrees is unacceptable!  Aha!!! 

Long story short, I bought this $20 metal fire pit a few years back at a swap meet, and it’s probably been my best purchase since.  Every winter I get quite the use out of this little guy fueling bonfires every weekend with the zealous devotion of a saint.  There’s just something about sitting around a real campfire, letting the smoke infiltrate my nostrils and feel the natural heat that puts my mind at ease.  It’s a peaceful experience and a much-needed distraction from a life used to being lived on the run. 

And what feels even better is knowing that my hard work and focused effort created this firewood with my own two hands.  I had completed the full cycle of life, from trimming, to cutting, to drying and now to burning.  Not a single bit of tree had been wasted.  And if that doesn’t put a smile on your face, then I don’t know what will. 

While other people might sit and gape at the crazy things we do.  Inside we know why you do them.  They make sense to us.  And that’s all that matters. 

Because there’s just something primal and satisfying about being able to do something yourself. 

-Q-FI 

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P.S.  Ever done something batty like this?  What is it about doing something yourself that just feels so good?