The Slow-Down

Grabbing my hammer with a white knuckled hand, I shove a guitar to the middle of the bench. Putting new frets in this one is going to be a nightmare. Garbage and tools litter the benchtop – but I don’t get paid to clean. The day is already screwed, and I’ve got to make up for lost time. To say I’m feeling tense would be a bit of an understatement. All my muscles are engaged. Everything. Even my feet are somehow clenched into little foot fists inside my shoes. As I reach for a fret and knock the uncapped super glue bottle over, my brain is somewhere else. I’m re-living an interaction with a customer from earlier in the day.

“You hear that? You hear that?”

The guy was clubbing his guitar like a baby seal. No one plays their guitar that hard. Insinuating that the frets I had just leveled were not level, he swung the pick across the strings with all his might. Getting this person out of my shop without blowing up was an exercise in patience. He was gone, but my thoughts remained.

“How’s that for low action with no buzz, asshole?”

The hypothetical conversation continues as I work. In my frustrated imagination, I show him who’s boss. With half my focus on winning an argument that will never happen, only half is on my work. Then, I miss the fret with my hammer and smack an inlay. Shattered. Another hour has just been added to the job, without an additional hour’s pay.

Now I find myself between a rock and a hard place. If I continue working while angry, I might make another preventable mistake. It’s hard to admit that in the moment, though, when emotions are running high. Feeling guilty and dumb, I want a win. I want to reclaim my honor. I’ve jumped back to the bench, looking for that win, countless times.
Occasionally, I’ll be triumphant. Other days, the anger returns as I soldier on. In order to avoid looking my previous oopsie in the eyes, I often switch jobs. In one worked-up instance, I decided that “just” making a saddle would be my easy win. That afternoon, I destroyed four perfectly good saddle blanks before admitting I had to quit.

Wasted time. Wasted money. Wasted materials. Wasted energy. How am I simultaneously the ring leader and clown in this stupid circus of my own making?

My body provided me with plenty of information and I failed to use it. Heart rate. Breath. Jaw. Shoulders. These are easy places to check. Heart rate normal? I’m fine. Jaw clenched like a vise, threatening to shatter my teeth? Time to put the tool down.

I should have noticed another clue, too: the state of my surroundings. If I had taken a few steps back from my bench and surveyed the battlefield, it would have been immediately apparent how the day was going. When there are drawers pulled out, cabinet doors ajar, and piles of tools near a helpless guitar, I’m in trouble. What’s going on inside me has made its way out – wreaking havoc in the shop.

There is no honor in persevering when the work space is a danger to the item that I’m supposed to be fixing. I used to believe it was noble, perhaps even necessary to push through the noise and get the job done. The mess was just part of the process, and people who thought otherwise must be disconnected from how “real work” gets done. The problem with this line of logic is that it falls apart as soon as one’s composure at the bench does.

Doug Proper once commented that no one cares if their Electrolux vacuum comes back from the shop with a scratch on it. I know I wouldn’t mind. Lawsuits are threatened if the same scratch is put on a guitar, though. Whether the case is resolved in or out of court, the luthier will take an emotional and financial hit. Who among us can work calmly and efficiently while dealing with anger, guilt, and stress? How does one recover from hours lost preparing for and going to court? As caretakers of these instruments, we must be on top of our game, or risk some painful consequences.

It’s helpful to remind myself that a guitarist may spend hours a day with their guitar. They embrace it as they work through each piece of music. Their arms wrap around this object for years, holding it close to the heart. It’s a real relationship, and something I must remember to respect. These objects have lives in their own way. In them are stored memories of love and heartache, struggle and triumph, friends, family, and personal breakthroughs.

To protect the instrument and myself, I make an effort at the bench to monitor my body and mind for signs of stress. However, it’s embarrassing how deep into the abyss I’ll fall before catching myself some days. When I do catch myself, I have a chance to recover before things spiral out of control. Watching my body, I’ve noticed some interesting things. When I’m hungry, it sometimes manifests as an inability to focus my eyes as well as I’d like. Occasionally I’ll be so stressed that I feel like my brain is physically vibrating (I’m not weird, you are). I try to view these stress responses as cues to practice one of my favorite things: “The Slow-Down.” I engage in one of these almost every day. They’re helpful every time, but are infinitely more important on days filled with struggle.

During a Slow-Down, I slow down physically. Moving too fast and ignoring my body got me here. It’s time to employ the opposite approach. Actions must be mindful and intentional. Each item gets put back in its proper place, until the whole bench (or entire shop) is cleared. Even tools that are needed for the next step of my current job are put away. I wipe the bench down sometimes. This really drives the concept home for me. With no evidence of my previous struggle, I’m able to start from a blank slate. Once my slate is blankified, I’ll walk out of the shop and make some tea or coffee. I might have a snack. I don’t scroll on my phone or check social media apps. The point here is to clear the mind, and scrolling does the opposite. While the drink is still uncomfortably hot, I’ll vacuum the rugs in the shop. Then I pick up my mug and enjoy. Everything is in order. I’m calm.

This typically gets me back where I need to be. There are days, however, when this is not enough. I go one step further for the rough ones by turning on my stereo and picking some relaxing music. I kill the lights and lie down on the floor, which is now clean. My drink is nearby, cooling. As the mug nears drinkable temperatures, I glance around my tiny space. I remind myself that this is beautiful.

There are years of collected tools, benches, and artwork here. My past and present live here, as does my future. It’s funny to think about this now that I’m writing it, but my routine is pretty much the same every time. My next step is to sit cross-legged on the floor and try to get lost in the music and my freshly clean surroundings. I’ll stretch my hands, shoulders, back, and legs while sipping my drink.

After just five or ten minutes of floor time, I’m dying to get back to the bench, clear headed and capable. How much time have I lost in total would you guess? I’ve tracked it, and it averages around 30 minutes. This includes the initial cleaning. Thirty minutes to a clean space, clear mind, and steady hand. Does that put a job further behind than it would be otherwise? I doubt it. Even if it moved a job one full day into the future, I’d continue this practice. It’s just not worth the risk of damaging the guitar or my body while in a state of disarray.

This slow down exercise works for me when I’m experiencing the opposite of Gretchen Rubin’s “outer order, inner calm.” My inner turmoil most certainly becomes outer disorder. If that sounds familiar, consider trying a similar routine when things get rough at the bench. Each of us has a unique body, emotional awareness, and work style. Some may prefer a nap, a walk, jumping jacks, doing the “Thriller” dance, or whatever else might work as a physical and mental reset button. Find the type of Slow-Down that works for you.

Our jobs are inevitably our lives. We can be happy in them when we are more in control. If we’re charging what we should be, we can afford to step back. It is a necessity. I promise: there’s room in the budget for cleaning the shop. There’s room in the budget for clearing our minds. There’s room for a Slow-Down.

For more of my writing/rambling/ranting, see www.stahmanguitars.com, visit my Instagram account, sign up for my email list, and/or find me on YouTube.