A time where I wouldn't give up.

I had to get the pieces just right.

I had a vision of how to make it work and I felt I had the time (I rarely do), and I would make as many attempts as I needed to accomplish my given task.

When doing finish, or trim, work, the attention to detail makes all the difference. But sometimes, what I see, as the craftsman, face-to-face with every little minutia, is much more than what the bigger picture reveals.

I was certain others would see that this one piece wasn't quite as exact as the others and 20 trips back and forth to the saw, grinder, or sander was all worth it.

"You're being a perfectionist"
"Overthinking it"
They would say.

My hope would be to have a moment to pause, look away from my microscope, and see the beauty of the whole picture. It felt like I couldn't will myself to do so, but rather, relied on my brother (also a perfectionist) to help break the inertia. The unstoppable force was moving, I needed an or object or, at the very least, a deflection to change my hopeless trajectory.

Sometimes, I'd continue anyway.

But, more and more, I learned to stop.
Even God knew when to stop.