Satisfaction

Recently some visitors to my property remarked at the progress I'd been making, and asked how much of it I did myself. My answer was, virtually all of it. The exceptions, many of which are obvious, include:

Everything else I've done myself. And, for the most part, I did by myself. Now, to be totally honest, owing mostly to health issues, lately I've had some help; however—and this is not meant to diminish the contributions others have made in any way—virtually everything that was done for or with me was something either I could have done myself, or actually did some of myself (with a very few exceptions, such as the exterior doors). Again, this is not meant to take anything away from the value of the helpers, or the help they provided.

That's still an awful lot of work! Why on Earth did I do so much on my own?

It boils down to one word: satisfaction.

I've frequently said that the satisfaction derived from doing something significant myself, especially something I'd never done before (such as installing a garage door, let alone building a whole house), is actually better than sex. Most people scoff. But consider: regardless of its intensity, an orgasm lasts but a fleeting moment; an accomplishment such as building a house lasts a lifetime.

Until the day I die, I can look at my home and proudly proclaim, I did this! Every aspect of it, from the design to the execution, every board, screw, wire and pipe, is 100% me—warts and all.

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