My pal Mark asked the other day: why carpenter instead of electrician, plumber, landscaper? There are many ways to work with your hands, he said, to fix and build things, so why carpentry?

Part of it, of course, was dumb luck. I saw an ad on Craigslist and answered the call. But something tells me had the post been seeking an electrician’s apprentice, or plumber’s, I would not have written to apply.

I’ve done a little wiring, snaking wires from a third floor to a basement. It’s tricky and meticulous, and much of my limited impression of the electrical trade involves tight dark places and small holes. The possibility of getting electrocuted frightens some; that’s not what would keep me from it though. And I can certainly appreciate the pleasure, at the end of the day, of flipping a switch and seeing that bulb light up a room. The wires are hidden, but the light you can see. Matthew Crawford, author of Shop Class as Soul Craft, began working as electrician’s helper at fourteen, and had his own electrical contracting business after college. He writes of that switch-flipped moment: “‘And there was light.’ It was an experience of agency and competence. The effects of my work were visible for all to see.”

In terms of plumbing, I’ve wrestled with some toilets. I’ve waddled them ontop of the waxy gelatinous ring on which they sit. And I’ve peered down that dark hole and felt the vertigo of poop tubes. Plumbing’s not just toilets; it’s water pipes and gas lines and wrenches. It’s also small spaces – I’ve crammed myself under a few sinks and wondered how the plumbers we work with – who are both large men – get their big arms and shoulders where they need to be. Metal (and let’s be honest, drain gunk, pipe clogs, and turds) appeal to me less than wood.

There’s something more essential about carpentry. There’s something essential about shelter. It’s nice when the lights work, and plumbing is important, but what do they matter without the walls around you?

A wall is real. A piece of baseboard that hides the gap between wall and floor, that’s real, too. I’ve spent a lot of my life mixed up with words, and carpentry has been a relief from that. Words make me stumble. I have chaos in my head and I’m not the best at sifting through the feelings or ascribing the right actions to the right feelings, or expressing those feelings in words.

Cutting a piece of trim, I don’t have to worry about how to explain what’s making me feel sad. I don’t have to worry about getting lost in the translation from emotion to language. A measurement, a cut, sawdust in my lungs. And the piece of wood slides in to fit tight after a few taps with a hammer. It’s this stripping away of bullshit, a stripping away of anything abstract or emotional or confusing. The actions are prescribed: measure, measure, cut, nail in. Or, as Matthew Crawford writes: “The satisfactions of manifesting oneself concretely in the world through manual competence have been known to make a man quiet and easy. They seem to relieve him of the felt need to offer chattering interpretations of himself to vindicate his worth. He can simply point: the building stands, the car now runs, the lights are on.”