You know, for the longest time, I just felt like I was treading water. My day job was fine, paid the bills, but there was always this nagging feeling, this itch for something more, something real, something I could point to and say, “I built that.” It wasn’t just about money, though that’s always part of the picture, right? It was about a deeper sense of security, of being able to rely on myself, to truly create my own opportunities. That’s when this whole “Queen of Pentacles” thing really clicked for me – it’s not just about getting money, it’s about making your own ground, your own solid foundation. About building your abundance from the dirt up, literally and figuratively.
I started out with pretty much nothing specific in mind. Just a general unease, a feeling that I was constantly reacting to whatever life threw at me, never really driving the bus. Bills would come, I’d pay them. Something broke, I’d fix it, usually by paying someone else. It was an endless cycle, and frankly, it felt pretty hollow. My shed was full of old junk, bits of wood from an old fence, some rusty tools I inherited. Stuff just sitting there, taking up space.
The turning point, I guess, was when my old pickup truck finally gave up the ghost. I mean, completely kaput. Needed a new engine. That was a massive hit, totally unexpected. It hit me hard. I scraped together every last penny, dipped into what little savings I had, and even had to borrow a bit from my brother. That whole experience left me feeling exposed, vulnerable. It was a wake-up call, really. I realized then and there that I couldn’t just keep hoping things would be okay. I needed to do something, to actively build a safety net, something that wasn’t just a number in a bank account but something tangible, something I had a hand in making.
So, I started small. Like, really small. I looked at those old fence panels in the shed. “What can I do with this?” I asked myself. I pulled out a few planks, dusty and weathered. Grabbed my dad’s old hand saw and a hammer. My first project? A super basic planter box. The kind you see online, maybe. I watched a few shaky videos on YouTube – mostly folks in their garages, just like me, figuring things out. My first cuts were awful. Crooked, splintered. My nails bent more often than they went straight. It was a mess, honestly. The sides didn’t meet perfectly, the bottom was a bit saggy.
But I finished it. And that felt like a huge win. A wobbly, slightly ugly planter box, but I made it. I put some dirt in it, planted some herbs. And then I made another one. And another. Each one a little bit better than the last. I started learning what wood worked best, how to handle the saw, how to actually measure twice and cut once. I started sanding them, making them smoother. I even tried staining one with some old paint I found. It looked pretty good, for a beginner.
I didn’t stop there. I started looking at other things. An old wooden crate, I turned it into a small shelf. Some leftover plywood, I made a little stool. I wasn’t going out and buying fancy lumber; I was using what I had, looking for discarded pieces, asking neighbors if they had old wood they wanted to get rid of. It became a bit of an obsession. My hands were always dirty, always busy. I bruised my thumb more times than I can count, got splinters daily.
Then one day, a friend came over and saw the planter boxes on my porch. She loved them. Asked if I could make one for her. And then another friend saw hers and asked for one. Pretty soon, I was getting small requests. Nothing huge, just a few bucks here and there for materials and my time. It wasn’t a fortune, but that first time someone handed me money for something I built? That was a moment, let me tell you. It wasn’t just money; it was validation, a true sense of having created value with my own two hands.
I started putting a few pieces out at a small local market on weekends. Setting up my little table, feeling incredibly nervous. Would anyone buy this stuff? And they did. Small things, mostly – little decorative boxes, those planter boxes, even some rustic picture frames. Every sale felt like a little victory. It encouraged me to learn more, to refine my skills, to try new designs. I wasn’t just working anymore; I was building something for myself, creating something that had real worth.
This whole journey, it really reshaped my understanding of what “abundance” actually means. It’s not just a fat bank account. It’s the knowledge that I can take raw materials, or even discarded ones, and turn them into something useful, something beautiful, something someone else values. It’s the resourcefulness, the skill I picked up, the quiet confidence that comes from knowing how to make things. That feeling of being constantly at the mercy of unexpected expenses? It’s still there sometimes, sure, but now, I feel like I’ve got a tangible answer to it. I’ve learned to sow seeds, literally and metaphorically, and watch them grow into something solid and fulfilling. That old wobbly planter box is still in my yard, now full of bright flowers, a constant reminder of how I started to build my own abundance, piece by piece, plank by plank. It just took getting my hands dirty.
