A lot of people, mostly men, when I say I work as a carpenter, ask me about a toolbelt. I never owned one. I’ve envied and admired M’s, which is worn in like a good pair of boots, but it never felt right to buy myself one, all fresh and stiff. After all, I can shove nails in my front pockets, a pencil in the back, clip a tape to my right hip. And maybe more so it was a doubting if I’d earned one yet.
For this deck project we just finished, we worked with M’s old boss. We arrived at work one early morning and he said, “Got a present for you,” and he pulled out this belt that used to be his and I didn’t think it could really be for me, that maybe it was on loan for the day. I put it on, around my hips, and loved the way it felt, soft and strong, well worn, experienced, an experienced belt. “It’s yours to keep if you want it,” he said. It’s an object that feels instilled with something, some power, used and useful, and I couldn’t believe how cool it felt to wear. I said thank you, thank you, which didn’t do justice to how grateful, flattered, and surprised I was by this good gift.