It's a new work week here in my little slice of America. I spent yesterday getting things done. I'm going to spend today getting things done because I get things done for a living.
One of the most rewarding things about my job is that every night, the team makes a new product. It lands on people's doorsteps. It emerges in real time in their newsfeeds. It gets pushed to their inboxes or fed via smartphone alerts. We are makers.
When I was a teenager, I worked for my uncle's tile company in the summer. It was during the housing boom. We worked mostly in developments that were springing up all over Morris and Sussex counties -- half-million-dollar McMansions with fifty yards of backyard and your next-door neighbor within spitting distance. Sometimes, we could tile one of these houses (massive kitchen, full bathroom and powder room) in a day. We'd return and grout the next.
I remember looking in the passenger side-view mirror as we drove away from the job site in his battered, red Ford Scottsdale. Behind us was a fully tiled development. Together, we had made something.