My Mother Prayed I'd Have Hands Like This

It's suddenly occurred to me that I love manual labor. I prefer to have a euclidean task before me which can be accomplished using my hands. Moreover, I am keen on finished products. For years I've been in pursuit of knowledge, and lacked a lot of motivation as a result of lacking feedback in the form of products. I am fascinated by language, but I think I lack passion for it. Basically, it doesn't feed my need for a sense of accomplishment. It sooths my need for intellectual stimulation and fodder for conversation, but it doesn't put me to bed at night with a clear conscience like physical work does. For years I've debated against manual labor because I despise repetition in routine. I crave unique problems to solve and unusual tasks. I don't want to stock the same shelves with the same products day after day, but instead to develop an organization system which maintains itself without me returning to it daily. The next day I want to develop something new. I've also argued that I need interpersonal communication, which is something I find in academia. However, my intellectual pursuits are highly private and personal. Reading is not done in concert. When I labor with tools in my hand I feel full and satisfied and proud of myself. Whereas in so many ways when I sit down to write I feel inadequate, and am reminded of my shortcomings repeatedly. This realization is not surprising now that I realize it. I guess I'm more surprised that I hadn't realized it sooner.

As a child I was always active in movement. I ought to have been a dancer and an athlete. As an adolescent I worked with pleasure at a local dairy farm (although I was even then crippled by any early-morning work). As an adult I've worked as a waitress, which is a very physically-demanding job that is combined with a lot of (short-term) interpersonal relationships. Working construction was a very satisfying job, and made me wish I had had more of a "skill" to contribute and not just to clean. As the manager of the Chipotle I thrived on the constant motion and involvement in orchestrating multiple tasks for the bottom line. When I get in the kitchen to cook it often is multiple things at once, and none of them for eating immediately. I've spent hours in the kitchen after coming home from work and still had nothing to eat for dinner (I was cooking something other than dinner, of course).

Being in a desk as a secretary was a suicide spot. Likewise, being subservient in an atmosphere where I am denied any creative input or sense of ownership is a slow death.

I really love teaching, but maybe composition isn't my final spot. Learning how to construct pottery pieces was satisfying on so many levels. I learn more about myself and God and the relationship between us every time I touch clay (and am reminded of those lessons every time I see a finished piece).

Now my question is: how do I make a living knowing this?