I’ve been using the same knife at work for the last six years, and I realized just how personal it has become to me. When I cut, I know with tip is dull enough that I can score without breaking, the rear is sharp enough to cut through plastics and foam like butter, and I know the bevel is thick enough to glide right past cardboard with no problem. This knife is special to me because of how I shaped it, how I’ve grown to learn it.
My co workers shame me for not using a box cutter, but I disagree, my tool is an extension of my growth, in all ways. I have come to further appreciate what I have shaped around me and what around me I have shaped. Then again, when they use it they are utterly useless because they have not grown with this tool.
Life is full of these things,the door handle showing more love on one side from the use of a specific hand, keys becoming worn from nights longing for a bed, shoes telling a story of work, fun and hardship.
There are stories all around if you look.
