From The House That Carving Built | The Bitter Southerner
I was hungry for results, something to wow my friends up North, and fell into my worst habits — becoming the quiet, determined perfectionist who wouldn’t settle for anything less than ideal.
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The longer I spent at Campbell, accepting my flaws and limitations, along with the importance of asking for help, the more my old attitude began to fade. I signed up for another woodturning class and, thanks to my new sense of patience, created a set of kitchen utensils that, while not perfect, work well enough for me. I took a blacksmithing course, satisfied that I ended up with three finely-shaped hooks even though my studio mate forged an entire fireplace toolset in the span of two days.