I read somewhere, I don't remember where, a thought I haven't been able to shake: We're most motivated when we're working on a task that sits right at the edge of our current abilities — not too easy, not too hard. Well below our ability, it turns boring; well above it, it turns us away. I came back to that thought while trying to figure out why my current project — an old wardrobe, still waiting in the garage — refuses to "click" with me. Why I keep putting it off. Why I can't seem to find the motivation to finally get it out of there.
I'm restoring the wardrobe for a client. I don't know much about the piece itself — only that before she brought it to me, it had spent at least a year sitting outside, exposed to the weather. What happened to it before that, I have no idea. When I stripped off the old paint, the wood underneath was damp, wet to the touch. The metal parts had it worse — rust, everywhere the moisture had reached.
And that's where the boredom set in. Not the kind of boredom you feel in a waiting room or a long meeting — something quieter, slower. A feeling that I wasn't creating anything new. There was no surprise waiting under the paint this time, no star. Just poor homemade craftsmanship and the damage the damp had left behind. Thinking about it again now, I realize something — that feeling is familiar. It's the same one I sometimes get in the office: working, but not actually moving anything forward.
Not to mention the sheer struggle of stripping the paint itself. And here's the "funny" part: the client brought the wardrobe over herself, without me there, and since it wouldn't fit in the car, she decided the simplest solution was to just saw the top off. When she told me, I was sure I'd misheard her. It's funny now — it wasn't funny then. My inner voice just kept asking, who saws a wardrobe in half? But I suppose after enough DIY videos, plenty of things start to look simple.
This is where I owe a real thank-you to my partner, Marko, who helped me strip the paint and sand it down. He's involved in almost every one of my projects at this point, and I'm grateful we've become a real team when it comes to restoring things together. I'm also grateful to the client for not rushing me, even though the wardrobe has been with me far longer than either of us originally planned.
The client wanted the exact same color it had before. So — boredom, as I said. At least now I know what kind of projects I won't be choosing again.
Still, the wardrobe did offer one small surprise — a small religious image of Mary, and a very old coffee wrapper I'd never seen or heard of before. It always makes me happy to find something like that. Objects always tell you a little about the life of whoever used them.
Right now, there's exactly one thought keeping me going: getting this wardrobe out of the garage, once and for all, so I can start on the nightstands for my own future bedroom. This project taught me something worth carrying forward — going forward, I want to focus more on furniture that's going into our own house, and on pieces I restore by my own judgment and then sell, rather than commissioned projects — unless something genuinely interesting comes along. For now, though, the house is project number one.
Thank you for reading.