The various projects I have done in the past fall into two broad categories. Some of them were individual exercises that depended on my endurance, intelligence, and the natural strictures of materials and the physical world. Others, and in some ways these were more difficult, relied on the opinions of others just as much as my own labour and wit. Now that I am embarking on another project of the second type, I have started to reflect on how much power others have over our lives.
Many of my early projects were limited by the materials I had available, as well as my own penury. I had lots of time, and seemingly enough inventiveness, that carving from stone, building a blast furnace for my metallurgical experiments, construction of the cabins of my youth, and travel in my region were possible. I pulled rocks from the creek before I learned that many thrown away sports trophies have marble bases, and when I visited the west coast I found marble in the mountain streams. Therefore, I could carve to my heart’s content with none to gainsay me. After I’d seen what fire could do to lead, and then aluminum and brass, I built a few structures that partially melted the metals I could find readily available. I was in a rural area so no one prevented me from burning wood and hydrocarbons. In fact, most of the time no one was even aware of what I was doing.
The cabins I built as a child were like the raft and artificial island I made in local pond. I could locate castoff wood and straighten a few nails to make nearly any structure I wished. I was only limited by my own lack of knowledge, such as the cabin I built when I was eight or so that had no roof because I didn’t know how to build one. Likewise, I tried to hollow a rotten white spruce that had dropped in a storm and made good progress towards the outrigger canoe I wanted, although I didn’t know that south sea islanders sit on top of their canoes and put their feet inside. I abandoned my canoe because it wasn’t wide enough for me to sit inside like the canoes I was used to. I really wanted a canoe at that time, but couldn’t even foresee a time when I would be able to afford one. Later cabins were better formed, and one of them, my sister’s favourite, was the two story fence rail structure I built when I was eleven. Local kids, and strangely, even some adults broke into it and took some of my belongings, but I’d proved the building of it was possible.
When I wanted to travel, the only vehicle I could afford was at first a bicycle and then a motorcycle. I couldn’t go very far at first, but many summers I would bicycle all night and only return at dawn. When I had a motorcycle I traveled as far as Ottawa before the bike threw the timing chain and I couldn’t afford to fix it.
As these examples indicate, the main limitations on my projects were financial and material. As well, at this time I was dependent on others for a place to live, and my stability was directly connected to the idle whims of others. Oddly, however, when I began to assume more control over my own life, such as when I went to university, my projects started to be subject to the opinions of others.
Whether I received a degree was partially dependent on my own hard work, as well as overcoming my lack of socialization, but the main ingredient was the opinion of my professors. I needed to be found worthy by the professors who act as gatekeepers in most universities. One professor told me I didn’t belong in university, that I wasn’t university material, and others, employing the same tactic as teachers and social workers, tried to assure me of my ill fit. Regardless of their statements, for me, university was also an opportunity to reinvent myself, and I set about that willingly. I worked reasonably hard at my classes, much harder at my socialization, and soon similar minded professors knew I didn’t belong but found it much harder to identify my exact problems.
During my Masters that disconnect between their expectations and my abilities was profound, but when I went west for my PhD I was able to make some headway on my merit. These were both projects which meant I was subject to the opinions of others, however, and couldn’t just force my way through by dint of hard work. I had to keep the committee happy with me even more than I had to perform well on my courses and the dissertation. My future hung on the unsteady thread of the regard of others, and that is never a comfortable position for anyone.
After a few degrees, I turned my mind to writing and for a long time that just meant that part of my bookshelf was written by me. Few people knew or cared that I wrote anything, although many of my friends were supportive. That solitary enterprise was dependent on an old borrowed typewriter, then a borrowed computer, then a cheap laptop, until I could write as much as I wished and no one could prevent me. I’d found the stone and wood of my next project, and the only limitation was my need to make a living and conduct a social life.
When I decided to build a wooden sailing boat, I was limited financially, as always, intellectually, since I had never even sailed let alone built a boat, and when the time came to build, I was limited by the four walls of my sister’s two bay garage. I made up for my deficiencies by reading fifty boatbuilding manuals, saved money so I could build a cheap boat if I cut some corners, and trucked five hundred dollars’ worth of lumber from a local mill. I learned as I went, and the project was delightfully free of the input of others. It was only limited by my own weaknesses and the physical constraints of the world. I built in the garage, and my eager nephews began to stop by on the way home from school to see the progress of the day. I ignored the derision of my sister’s neighbours who knew little enough but felt qualified to tell me I would fail, and soon I had a boat whose sails bellied with the winds of the Strait of Georgia.
On the water other boat people were unanimously positive, and I was merely limited by what the wind and sea could throw at me. I survived unintentional groundings, high tides, rip currents and near misses from other boats. I only came close to problems with others when the coast guard showed too much interest in me and when I told the Gibson’s Landing harbour master he should use please when asking someone for a favour. I could avoid those people at sea however, and soon I built a dingy and went further and further away from others.
When I bought my land and spent my summers building a cabin out of largely used building materials rescued from dumpsters I was again cast on my own resources. I required little from society, and if anyone caused me heartache I merely drove into the woods. The cabin itself was merely the product of hard work, and since I was limited by access to materials, I designed it around what I could scavenge. No one came to tell me I was wrong, that the boat would never float, that people like me couldn’t do graduate degrees, and although a few told me that my cabin would not be a comfortable place to live, most were positive about what I was working on.
With my latest project I am more subject to the whims and opinions of others than ever. As if I were a foster kid again, standing at the unwelcoming door of a new home, I can merely try for an acceptance I am unlikely to receive. I wish for the simpler days when my hard work, or in the case of the boat and the cabin, extremely hard labour, would pay off with a result. Instead, I am facing a committee like when I worked on my PhD, and I’m subject to the goodwill of others. Like a refugee at Canada’s borders, I can only look earnest, answer politely and subserviently, and hope the doors might open enough that I might have permission to begin my last big project.
