The other night, when I was out working on Fezzik until midnight, I actually enjoyed myself.
After more than 15 years of turning wrenches, the thrill is gone. I’d say better than 90% of the time I’ve spent under the hood in the last decade has been urgently fixing problems. That’s not as much fun as scheduled, performance upgrades.
I don’t really enjoy working on cars anymore as a result. (You might see how this presents fundamental identity tension.)
But the other night was special. At 95°, it was almost cool outside. I had some music, a fan, and everything seemed to come apart as expected. It was mechanical Zen.
It was good times. I needed that.