Whittling, a love letter
I donât even know why I started to whittle, all I know is that I desired to do so for a long time but was afraid to.
In a moment of absolute bravado I just decided to try. I bought a starter pack filled with a knife, some small blocks of wood and instructions and set to work.
It was so hard, the knife didn't make a dent in the wood and I had sore hands within minutes.
I researched and figured out what stropping was: the act of sharpening a knife using a piece of leather glued to wood and something functioning as a sort of sharpening wax.
I bought the necessary supplies, stropped my knife, tried again. Watched videos and tried sharpening my knife once more.
Then, all of a sudden, I felt like I knew what I was doing. I was making something I loved.
I still failed too, a lot. I cut away things I shouldnât have, wasnât able to straighten something and in the end cut away too much.
But that didn't stop me from loving to whittle. Nothing calms me down as much as whittling does.
I have to be fully focused on it, otherwise I might cut myself despite the cut resistant gloves I wear.
And in that is the gift. No matter what the result is, I have succeeded.
I have made something. I have found quiet within.
And that is a gift I cherish.