Socrates, a Circular Saw, and a Six-Year-Old

How ancient advice and modern mishaps taught me to accept who I am—and who I’m not.

We received a package today.

Addressed to me. A matte black box—sleek, with a hip name and logo, sharp edges all around (very iPhone-esque). It carried all the promises of a high-quality product. I opened it with moderate anticipation. (Some days it doesn’t take much to amuse Curmudg.) Slowly running a small knife across the delicate dotted lines, I excitedly opened the box.

Inside was a heavy plastic round cup, a small bag of screws, and a page of instructions.

I gently closed the box, left it on my wife’s “to-do” pile in the kitchen, and walked away with a smile. I know my limitations. And I know when to simply put that beautiful black box down and leave it in the hands of a more competent person.

But it took many years, many mistakes, and many WTFs to get here.

The following are two stories that I still find humorous. They remind me that humility and self-knowledge are essential—not just in DIY projects, but in life itself.

I am grateful for and enjoy that I can now look back at many and laugh.

Here we go:

When my older daughter Emily was 6, we redecorated her bedroom, including adding carpeting. The new carpet was far plusher than the original, so the door to her room needed to be cut in order to close.

With no toolkit other than a few rusty pieces scattered around the garage, I traipsed to my neighbor’s house and more or less said, “Me need cut door,” to which he replied, “Well, you’re going to need a circular saw and a sawhorse, as well as a ruler and a heavy-duty pencil.”

I took them all, and off I went, hearing, “You know what you’re doing?” trailing behind me.

Sure, I knew what I was doing.

Until I didn’t.

I did know the “measure twice, cut once” paradigm. I carefully measured the depth of the carpet pile, then carefully removed the door from its hinges. After carefully measuring, I cut half an inch off the door, and finally returned it to its hinges.

Still with ten fingers, I took a moment to stand back and admire my work. Voila!

So proud was I—until I tried to open the door.

It rubbed against the carpet.

Yes —I had successfully cut the half inch...off the top of the door.

Ouch.

Undaunted, a few months later, I took on another project: installing a water hose reel on the side of the house. Minutes after I started, I heard the outside door open and soon could feel Emily’s presence behind me. I can still picture her—hair neatly combed, blue and white dress, hands behind her back. But just standing there.

After a minute, I asked, “What are you doing?” She replied, “Oh, Mommy said that you were putting something on the side of the house and that I might want to wait out here in case the house fell down.”

Oh, ye of little faith.

The house didn’t fall down, but a few weeks later, the hose reel did, just like my confidence in DIY.

Know thyself. Socrates. In a world filled with “look at me-ism,” how can one focus on thyself when everyone else is asking you to focus on them? Yeah, Curmudg, too, I suppose.

Follow me down this rabbit hole for a moment, it’s worth it:

As our world grows noisier and more interconnected, the real path inward—toward understanding ourselves—becomes crucial.

The thing is, we all need to do more knowing thyself for the sake of knowing thyself. It’s the only way to turn off the noise from outside.

A cousin of mine who is several years older once recounted to me a dilemma I was working with at age six:

“What am I going to do?” I stressed out then.

And here I am, a “few” years later, mulling over the same question, but with more clarity:

But I’m getting clearer. “What am I going to do?” has matured into “Why am I here?”

And for that matter, why are any of us here?

We are here—every day—to create something that lasts. Not through grand gestures or monumental inventions, but through the small marks we leave—any and every day. Things like gentle kindnesses, quiet improvements, little acts that help us live more peacefully—and help others do the same.

I’ve learned that each conscious act, every thoughtful word, even the smallest attempt at repair—whether to a door, a hose reel, or a relationship—adds up, subtly shaping the world for those who are around us or come after us.

It’s a comforting thought: purpose isn’t a lightning bolt but a mosaic—built day by day.

Through reflection and honest self-inquiry, we can not only fine-tune our own path but also become better companions for others navigating theirs.

TL;DR: In a world obsessed with being seen, we often forget to look inward. But true growth comes not from broadcasting ourselves, but from quietly asking, “Why am I here, and what can I fix today—inside or out?”

P.S. My wife just informed me that said cup with screws and instructions was actually one screw, one small screwdriver, and instructions in five languages. Still a bridge too far for Curmudg.

P.P.S. If you liked this one, you'll love Ask the Right Questions. Click here to read it now.

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