Sometimes when I create things, I have a general idea of the end result. Normally though, the result is as much a surprise to me as it is to anyone.
This gratitude box started off as a poem on nice paper. The paper turned into wood, which graduated into burned etching, which was then upscaled into framed art, but was then tossed aside altogether for a wooden feed box of sorts.
Enter the Gratitude Box. The top pops off to make room for more gratitude. A pocket on the side holds paper to feed the box. Write a thank you to yourself or someone else and deposit the slip of paper into the box. Take it out and read it when conditions demand inspiration.
I have no idea if this gift will be enjoyed. That was never the impetus for creation. I create for me, for my sovereignty, enjoyment, and sense of self. Any thing else is called work.
Work is slavery.
You have now arrived at the end of this post. I had considered segueing into employment as bondage or dimensional lumber for decking, but those both seem so heavy and burdensome given the lightness of gratitude. So, I cut my losses and end with the little respect remaining, leaving you with this: Thank you for readers...as nice to hear as is to write.
