So, I saw something about John Cena making a return. Didn’t really see that coming, you know? He just pops up again. It got me thinking about stuff you figure is done and dusted.
It actually reminds me of this whole woodworking thing I used to do. Sounds totally unrelated, I know, stick with me. Years ago, I was really into it. Had a little setup in the garage. Spent weekends out there, making sawdust, putting things together. Built a couple of bookshelves, a wonky little coffee table for the living room. Nothing professional, just enjoyed messing with the wood, figuring things out.
Then, well, life happened. Changed jobs, which meant way longer hours staring at a screen. We had to move to a smaller place downtown, definitely no room for a workshop there. So, I had to get rid of most of my gear. Sold the big stuff, the table saw, the planer. Just kept a few hand tools, chisels, a saw, packed them away in a box. Figured that chapter was closed. You know how it is, you get busy, focus shifts. Woodworking felt like something from another life, honestly. Packed away and forgotten.
Fast forward quite a few years. Didn’t think about those tools much at all. Then, maybe six months back, my daughter needed this very specific kind of display stand for a science fair project. We looked everywhere, online, in stores, nothing was quite right. And then it clicked – I still had that box of tools somewhere deep in the basement storage locker.
Went down there, dug it out. Man, opening that box felt strange. Tools looked old, a bit of surface rust on some. Holding that old hand plane again… felt heavy, unfamiliar. I was rusty too, totally out of practice. Grabbed some scrap wood from the hardware store. Started trying to piece this stand together. It was rough. Made a bunch of mistakes, cuts weren’t straight, joints didn’t line up perfectly. Took me way longer than it should have.
But here’s the thing: slowly, painstakingly, I got it done. The stand wasn’t a masterpiece, but it held together, and it worked for her project. More than that, though, the process of just doing it again… sanding the wood, figuring out the angles, even the smell of the sawdust… it felt surprisingly good. Like finding something you thought you’d lost for good. It wasn’t some big, dramatic return. Just me, in the basement, covered in sawdust, making something again.
It just made me think, you know? About things coming back. Sometimes it’s big and loud like a wrestler stepping back into the ring. Sometimes it’s quiet, like digging out old tools. Things you think are over, skills you think you’ve lost, maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment to show up again. You just never really know for sure.
