The Reluctant Carpenter

As the holidays descend upon us, there were plenty of ways I imagined spending this season. Building a house was not one of them.

I’m not handy. I never have been, and truthfully, I’ve never attempted to be. My avoidance wasn’t laziness—it was strategy. If you genuinely don’t know how to do something, people eventually stop asking you to try. And for 56 years, this little tactic worked beautifully.

Until Adi signed Wesley up for a course on how to construct a house in two weeks.

The course: Future Builders Crash Course — a title that already felt like it was winking at me, as if it knew some secret about my future I hadn’t consented to yet.

I was all for this. “Sign this young man up for the course and let’s give him some skills,” I said enthusiastically. “We need more people who know how to build in this world!”

That enthusiasm evaporated the moment Wesley’s builder partner had to back out.

“Could you go with Wesley to the builder’s course?” Adi asked, her eyes batting around sheepishly, trying to sweeten the request. “I’ll never forget you doing this.”

In that moment, I suddenly remembered every reason I’d spent five decades avoiding anything involving a hammer.

“I’m really not handy,” I countered.

“Even more reason to go,” she replied without missing a beat.

“I’m kind of old,” I said. “You know the ol’ saying…”

“Think of how much you two will bond,” she said, undeterred. “This could be something he uses for the rest of his life. Especially when you truly are old.”

And that was it. I knew I was losing this battle. I was going to the Future Builder’s Crash Course whether I liked it or not. The only thing standing between me and St. Joseph, Missouri was a trip to Home Depot to buy steel-toed work boots, a hard hat, and a tape measure — the Holy Trinity of pretending you know what you’re doing.

On the drive over, I began mentally devising a plan. Maybe I could become a foreman. I’ve seen what they do on job sites: stand over everyone else, point at things, nod seriously, and not lift a finger. That felt like my lane. That was my jam, as the kids say.

Actually, I don’t think the kids say that. I think middle-aged people say it, trying to sound young and cool.

And that’s when it hit me: this was straight out of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey. The Call to Adventure rarely arrives wrapped in convenience or comfort. Most of the time, it shows up disguised as something we would never choose for ourselves — a detour, an interruption, or, in my case, a pair of steel-toed boots and a long drive to Missouri. But these unexpected invitations have a way of steering us toward exactly who we’re meant to become.

If you’d like to explore how your own life might be calling you forward, I’ve put together a short breakdown of the Hero’s Journey on YouTube. It might just help you see your path — and your challenges — in a whole new light.

More to come…