Can you hear the music?

Wisps of a shower

Standing in what will soon be a shower, probably one of the most intimate parts of a person’s home, but it is not a shower just yet. As of now it’s still just a frame, we are in the middle of a gut renovation, the cement board walls are still open on the one side. In my mind’s eye I can see the unfolding future, How the walls will close to conceal the guts of the house; the plumbing, the insulation, and the electrical — my own piece in this symphony of creation.

I pause my busy hands, from their nimble, natural, well-rehearsed dance.

My eyes roam lovingly over the familiar landscape of a half built home, I breathe in deep, I can hear the music.

Chance encounter

My family has a distinct absence of blue-collar workers amongst its ranks. I stumbled into the trade of electrician almost by chance. A series of false career starts after my mandatory military service led to a chance invitation by an Electrician acquaintance-friend of mine to give him a hand on some office maintenance work. I discovered that clueless though I might be as far as using my hands was concerned, there was something comforting at the clear nature of our labors. Office lights went from off to on. Projectors got installed. HVAC units got powered and sputtered into life.

There was a certain awe at watching my now boss, fearlessly and gracefully working inside a live panel, an activity that seemed entirely heroic, borderline foolhardy. I did not understand the first thing about what he was doing, but I could tell that I was seeing the surface level of something that was much, much deeper than casually met the eye.

I found out to my surprise that above the panels of the office drop ceiling a whole mysterious world lurked, teeming with cables, pipes and a lot of dust. That shopping malls had secret passageways and staircases where the guts that made the whole thing function laid hidden. That concealed down the steps to the basements of tall buildings lay hidden caverns through where life flowed upwards towards the oblivious denizens enjoying these wonders.

It was a much uglier, grittier world than the clean shiny facade of the office that I had known before, this was the guts of the matter, the blood vessels, the muscles and bones that made a building work.

At days end, when I laid my tired body to rest, I closed my eyes with a satisfied contentment fueled by a a clear understanding of what I had done that day.

Thanks to my boss, things that were broken now worked. The world was a somewhat better, more orderly place. As an electrician, my boss had brought that office to life, he had brought light into the world.

I went to trade school.

Cacophony and Chaos

Eight months later came my first day on an actual construction site.

It was absolute chaos. I was running around after the guy I was assigned to help. He was rushing from place to place running wires, cursing out the meddlesome nature of drywallers, and ferociously undoing their work with a hammer where they had gotten in our way. There were tradesmen seemingly running all over the place, up and down ladders, drilling wildly into ceilings and walls. I could not make heads or tails of what was going on. To be honest that day made me wonder how it is it even possible that these buildings ever get built? It felt like an awful cacophony, or maybe even a battlefield.

I was hopelessly clueless before starting on this journey. I remember sheepishly asking for help from my wiry old neighbor, unsure how to make something hang on the wall. He was somewhat incredulous that a young man would be so utterly useless, but was kind enough to lend tools and guidance.

The beginning was, in the nature of beginnings, difficult. A distinct lack of understanding persevered for a time. How to organize a jobsite, how to plan work, how to properly strip a wire, and how to properly make a connection, translating the Sanskrit written on blueprints, and most importantly, learning how my piece of the into the music that was being played by all the tradesmen on the site.

Enter the champions

If you wish to become humble, I suggest that you attempt to do something concrete in this world. Any of the construction trades will do. The nature of the physical world is that it is mercilessly truthful. If you do not know what you are doing, trying to turn on the light will make you find that out mighty quick.

Once you tire of your own ignorance hopefully you will turn to the only solution that I know, your betters, those more experienced than you.

I owe a debt of gratitude to a long line of colleagues and mentors, who knew what they were doing, when I did not, and were charitable enough to share their hard-earned wisdom.

There are endless memories filling my mind’s eye, of moments of growth, granted by a kind soul, who was happy enough to help water my growth.

When my hands work, when my eyes effortlessly read the sheet music written on blueprints, hearing and seeing how this will all unfold in the real world. When my tools dance and shape the and give life to a home, the cables, the outlets, the lights, the conduit, the panel, all of that and more. There is the faint memory of a thousand guides who I’ve met along the way, singing through me.

When I joyfully wire a panel, which to the untrained eye looks like a dangerous, mad tangle of wires, my heart remembers a certain Saturday many many years ago, when me and a dear, if somewhat gruff mentor, patiently stripped, wired and powered hundreds of cables, breathing life into a building. Those peaceful, intimate hours, just me and him, crowning endless sixteen and eighteen hour days we shared in a mad rush to have that place ready in time, remain frozen within me. That building, that project was the first time I heard the music, walking reverentially through the empty soon to be filled halls, amidst walls I saw being built, under cables I personally ran, next to outlets I wired. I had a part to play in building that, my sweat and blood were literally soaked into it, in hidden places above the ceiling where they shall remain undisturbed till the building comes down. I could feel the building pulsing with the love that so many people had expressed in making it come to life.

For the first time, I could hear the music.

The closing of a chapter

I return back to this soon to be shower, as of yet nothing but an exposed skeleton. The final note of the music fades into memory, and a twinge of nostalgia pinches my heart. This is the last time. I will not take more projects. All the love in the world, however much I might have grown to know and be the Trade of Electrician, cannot change the fact that schools are now closed, that other than being an Electrician, I am also a part time single father of 3 beautiful children. And that when the schools close, and it is impossible to know when they will open, and for how long, lacking close by family to cover for me, I must be at home to take care of my children. I am a father first, an Electrician second. And if it is possible to be a remote worker as an electrician, I have not yet discovered how.

It is time for me to find a new trade. I’m not yet sure what I can do that would be of enough use or value to others that I might make a living remotely, as seems to be demanded of me in these strange times. Perhaps I’ll take my grandfather’s last piece of advice, and take a stab at this writing business.

My dear friends, fellow tradesmen, it has been an honor, a pleasure and an enlightening experience to help bring light to the world with you.

Farewell,