Not everyone is fortunate enough to fall in love with their work—I was. But I also know what it feels like to fall out of love with it. What I never lost, though, was my love for the craft itself. There is a difference between work and craft, and it took time for me to truly understand that.
Falling out of love with the work was painful. It brought me to a crossroads that demanded a difficult choice. I chose to close my shop—not out of failure, but to pause, reflect, and ask myself if the flame still burned within.
Most people don’t realize: I wasn’t a natural talent in this field. My mentor, Master Phil Lowe—a man of few but meaningful words—once looked at a piece I made and said, “We all make primitives, not just masterpieces.” That lesson stuck with me. It reminded me to be proud of my work, but never settle. Never think you’ve “made it.”
Over the years, I worked in cabinet shops, restoration labs, conservation studios, and for private clients and contractors. Two decades in, I realized something was missing. Was it burnout? Was it grief from losing my hero—my mother? Was it the weight of spreading myself too thin, chasing too many paths at once? Maybe it was misplaced trust, or the constant pressure of keeping up with a world that no longer valued the same things.
Hindsight is 20/20. You can’t live in the past—you can only move forward.
So I chose life. I chose my family. I chose to live.
It started with a final conversation with Phil Lowe on his deathbed. He told me, “Legacy is bullshit. The greatest thing you can do is live.” Then came a Mother’s Day conversation with my wife and mother-in-law, just a year after my mom passed. It was a wake-up call—I realized I was sacrificing my health, my body, and my life for a dream that might never come true.
The world has changed. The appreciation for the craft has changed. And I had been adapting for others for far too long. But the truth was, I wasn’t doing the thing I once loved—at least not in the way that fed my soul.
And so the reality hit me: my passion for the work had faded. I wasn’t the same person anymore. But you know what? That’s okay.
Because now I’m healthier. I sleep more. I laugh more. I’m present with my best friend—my partner in life. I’m making things again—not for clients or deadlines, but for me, for my family. And I enjoy it more than ever.
So don’t fear change. Don’t be afraid to close one door and open another. You only get one life. Love it. Live it. And cherish the small moments—because life, in all its imperfection, is far too precious to waste.
