High Water

I just did a site visit for a job I’ll start in January. This is, without a doubt, the high point of the project. Of any project.

The design is complete. The estimate has been accepted. The material has been selected. Right now, riding the ferry across a rollicking Penobscot Bay back to the mainland, I’m imagining how those ancient stones will come together to form a beautiful wall.

At this moment, everything feels full of potential. Like waking up on Christmas morning to a world of freshly fallen stone.

I know better than to think this feeling will last.

Six weeks from now things will feel different. I’ll be tired of this commute. The stones may not fit together as magically as I’d hoped. The quaint community center where they sell coffee and donuts via the honor system may lose some of its charm. I’ll wish I was at home with our new puppy rather than out in the cold banging on rocks.

And that’s okay. It’s the natural progression of a project. The beginning, middle, and end all feel different. If your spirits aren’t as high three-quarters of the way through as they were on day one, it doesn’t mean something’s wrong. That’s the nature of any undertaking.