When you can see the invisible, you can do the impossible. Mark J.
Humans create from the workshops of our imagination.
I’ve been thinking about this all day. And as I thought about it, my Dad’s workshop kept coming to mind.
The house I grew up in had a separate garage. It sat away from the house closer to the alley. And it was unfinished inside. The floor was dirt. There were no lights. No power outlets. I don’t even know if the power was hooked up to it. I remember piles of junk laying all around. It was always dark in there except for the space where the sunlight shone through the door, during morning hours.
I don’t remember anything usable in that garage. Except for a time when my little brother secretly captured and raised pigeons in the attic. (I discovered them and he was outed, LOL)
I remember thinking of how it was such an underutilized space. And often imagined ways to turn it into a small apartment.
As a kid, I didn’t know how to do anything with what I imagined. And, it was supposed to be my Dad’s space. His garage. He wanted to finish it out and make it a workshop.
My imagination regarding that garage, growing up, was idle imagination. It lacked power.
Years later …
I grew up. Joined the Air Force. Moved away. Traveled and lived in other states and countries.
Years later, I came back home and my Dad had completed the conversion of that dreadful, dark, space into an amazing shop.
My Dad was a diesel mechanic. His Dad had been a carpenter, and an inventor.
My Dad proudly showed me his father’s tools and equipment and said, “There was nothing your Grandfather couldn’t do. He had even invented a type of steam engine in his day. “
Some of what looked like piles of junk laying all around when I was a kid, were the tools and equipment that once belonged to my grandfather.
I sat in that shop while my Dad worked on my car and learned so much about my father that I never even imagined when I was a kid. It was always there. But, my father was a quiet man, I didn’t hear any of his stories growing up.
It seemed there wasn’t anything my Dad couldn’t do. And I never knew that about him.
I have never seen a workshop before, or since, that was as well equipped and organized as my Dad’s workshop.
He had specialized tools for landscaping equipment, cars, diesels, motorcycles, bicycles, and surprisingly carpentry. Everything someone would need to repair essentially anything around a home, and vehicles, my Dad had in that workshop.
He had poured concrete for the floor. He installed power outlets for small equipment and even big heavy duty equipment. Everything was neatly organized, on built-in shelves and could be found right away. He had bright shop lights, and even a pull down ladder to the attic, which was also meticulously designed, lit, and well organized.
My Dad had built a vision for this workshop in his mind and heart for twenty years or so, before he was able to create it.
Looking around his workshop, I was stunned at the details of his vision. I could not have imagined what he imagined. It all came out of his mind, his vision, his dreams, his thoughts.
Thinking is the true business of life, power is the result. You are at all times dealing with the magical power of thought and consciousness. What results can you expect so long as you remain oblivious to the power which has been placed within your control? (Haanel 20.4)
Until I started writing this blog post, I had not thought of my Dad’s shop in terms of imagination and creating. Today, as I remember this, I’m seeing my father in an entirely new light. I have a whole new appreciation for him.
Since that first time in my Dad’s workshop, I’ve moved out to the property where I now live. When it came time to start building our home, my Dad surprised me by giving us Granddad’s old lathe.
My grandfather had hand built this lathe so he could build the house my Dad grew up in.
While we were building this house, I would come in and run my hand along that lathe and feel the poignancy of the connection with my Grandfather, that something he built was helping to build our home. Even now, my eyes tear up as I think about this.
When I was growing up, the story, or narrative I was living was of the unfinished, dark, junk-filled garage.
However now, in writing this blog post, I’ve realized I need to integrate the rest of the story, the well-lit, organized, finished workshop.
And the legacy of my father and grandfather demonstrating the power of their imaginations by their actions.
I consider reality to be fluid, like a lake.
Much of how we experience our lives comes from the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and our lives. The fluid, neuron-plasticity of our brains allows us to learn new things, to reinvent ourselves, and to frame our experiences in new ways that support living our purposes.
Today’s blog post, uncannily answers a question, “What am I pretending not to know?”
I have tons of projects around this house and property. And it’s very much tied to my definite major purpose.
Sometimes, I feel stuck, or like I’m spinning my wheels.
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with all that needs to be done, like I did when I was a kid, thinking about the garage.
I’ve noticed that thinking doubtful or discouraging thoughts drains my energy. These thoughts literally dissipate my focus. They deplete my power.
It changes my story
Remembering my Dad’s workshop and connecting to how our imagination is our workshop, along with integrating the rest of the story, that I’ve pretended not to know, supercharges my energy. It changes my story. I can see how the old unexamined story was shaping some of my present experiences.
I imagine this will change now. (Breakthrough. Better quality fuel for my imagination.) 🙂
I know how to do this. Both my Dad, and Granddad are wonderful models for this!
Power is the fuel which fires the imagination. (20.8)
Trust the process.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .