How I Got Here (And why I'm still covered in sawdust)

There’s something about sawdust.

It clings to everything—your clothes, your coffee mug, your eyebrows. You’ll carry it out of the shop and into the rest of your day without realizing it, and I’ve come to find that my thoughts behave the same way. The lessons, the frustrations, the quiet wins—they follow me. So, this is my place to shake a little of that dust off and see what’s stuck underneath.

I’ve been woodworking for about five years now. It started with curiosity and a frankly dangerous amount of confidence. I wanted to make things with my hands. Not just in a "handyman around the house" kind of way, but in a What if I could turn this into something beautiful? kind of way.

Over time, the craft took root. Somewhere between the late nights, the tool upgrades, the inevitable mistakes, and the victory of a perfectly flush joint—I found myself. Not in a grand, poetic sense, but in a way that felt real. Practical. Like sanding down something that’s been rough for too long and suddenly realizing it’s been hiding grain the whole time.

Woodworking taught me more than how to make a table. It showed me how to hold space for creativity. It reminded me that passion and silliness aren’t mutually exclusive. That being “nerdy” about something is just another way of loving it deeply. It cracked open parts of me that were too tightly sealed—my ambitions, my relationships, even how I see the world. All for the better.

But I’m also moody. And opinionated. I can be overly meticulous or wildly distracted, depending on the day and the playlist. I’ve got takes about everything from glue-up techniques to why some of us pretend to not cry when we come across something that truly moves us. And I’m not here to pretend otherwise.

This blog—Woodshop Reflections—is where I’ll write with sawdust still on my hands. It’s where I’ll share what I’m working on, what I’m learning, and what’s catching my curiosity. It might be introspective, it might be goofy, and occasionally it’ll probably be a little too honest. That’s kind of the point.

If you’re here, whether you're a fellow maker, a fan of handcrafted things, or just someone trying to slow life down a bit—I hope these reflections feel like pulling up a stool in a quiet corner of the shop. No pressure to perform. Just room to breathe, create, and maybe see things with a little more wonder.

Thanks for reading.
Let’s see where the sawdust takes us. (how cheesy)

—Joseph