You know, there’s this feeling you get when you start something new, right? Something real, something you can touch or build. It’s got this weird energy to it. You’re all hyped up at first, full of ideas, ready to conquer the world. But then, pretty quickly, it hits you. That slow, grinding pace. The reality of putting one foot in front of the other, day after day, and barely seeing a ripple.
I remember when I first decided to really get into woodworking. Not just fixing a loose chair leg, but actually building something from scratch. I’d seen all these amazing pieces online, these intricate joints, beautiful finishes. My head was buzzing with visions of grand dining tables and elegant bookshelves. I went out, got some basic tools, scavenged some decent wood, and started on this small coffee table for my living room.
Man, I thought I was gonna whip that thing out in a weekend. I sketched out my plans, watched a few YouTube videos. Felt like I had it all mapped in my head. But the moment I picked up that saw, everything changed. Cutting a straight line? Harder than it looked. Sanding? Endless. Joining pieces? Forget about it. My first attempts were just… bad. Crooked, splintered, nothing fitting right.
I’d spend hours in my garage, sweating, covered in sawdust, and at the end of the day, it barely looked like I’d made any progress. It was just a pile of wood that looked like it had been attacked by a beaver, not a budding craftsman. My enthusiasm started to dip. I’d look at the half-finished, ugly mess and think, “What was I even thinking? This is going nowhere.”
That feeling, that exact slow-motion frustration, that’s when I started to really get what some folks call “Page of Pentacles timing.” I mean, I’d heard about it, read about it in some books, but it never really clicked until I was living it, elbow-deep in wood glue and splinters. It’s not about instant gratification. It’s not even about a big, dramatic breakthrough. It’s about the very first, often clumsy, steps.
Embracing the Grind
I wanted a finished table, a masterpiece. But what I was getting was a lesson in basic geometry, patience, and how to use a chisel without taking off a finger. It was all about the foundation, the learning phase. Like a student just starting out, picking up the very first tools, learning the language of the craft. That’s the “Page” energy right there – fresh, eager, but totally new and needing to learn.
And the “Pentacles” part? That’s all about the physical, the material, the slow growth of the earth. Things don’t just sprout overnight. A seed needs time, consistent watering, good soil. My coffee table was my seed. It needed consistent effort, even when it felt like nothing was happening. I had to show up every day, even for just an hour, and just keep chipping away.
- I started focusing less on the finished product and more on the next small step.
- Did I get that joint a little tighter? Good.
- Is that surface a bit smoother than yesterday? Even better.
- Did I learn a new trick for clamping things down? Awesome.
It was a slow burn, for sure. There were days I just stared at the wood, feeling defeated. But something in me just wouldn’t let me give up completely. I’d tell myself, “Just sand for another ten minutes. Just try that cut one more time.” And slowly, painfully slowly, things started to change.
The Message Unfolds
I began to see tiny improvements. My cuts got straighter. My sanding wasn’t quite as uneven. I learned to measure five times, cut once. I discovered new clamps and jigs that made life a tiny bit easier. The frustration didn’t vanish entirely, but it became less about the lack of a finished product and more about the satisfaction of mastering a new, small skill.
That coffee table? It took me way longer than a weekend. More like a month, working on it after my regular job, sometimes late into the night. It’s not a masterpiece, not by a long shot. It’s got a few slightly uneven spots, a couple of visible screw holes I probably should have plugged better. But you know what? It’s solid. And it still sits in my living room today.
When I look at it, I don’t just see a piece of furniture. I see all those hours in the garage, the frustration, the small victories. I see the lesson of that “Page of Pentacles timing.” It was all about laying the groundwork, embracing the learner’s journey, and understanding that some real, tangible things just need time to grow, slowly but surely. You can’t rush the foundation, or the whole building will come tumbling down. It’s about showing up, putting in the honest effort, and letting the work unfold in its own time.
