Perfecting craft means falling in love with process

The first thing I noticed when I met Virgil was his strong grip. For a man in his 80s, I got the sense he’d give me a run for my money in an arm wrestling match. His calloused hands were tinted with a hint of black. He had thick wrists. The smell of cologne mixed with oil and grease radiated from his clothes.

As my wife soon shared, her grandfather had always looked this way, because Virgil has spent his life perfecting his craft. He’s a man, he’s a mechanic.

A singer uses their voice, a microphone and a stage to ply their trade; Virgil uses his hands, a wrench, and a garage to ply his.

He spent 23 years in the Air Force as an aircraft maintainer, serving in the Vietnam war. After he retired, he opened a gas station, and in his latter years he spends his days in the garage, restoring classic cars.

He loves his garage. If the church is sacred to the preacher, then the garage is sacred to the mechanic.

Virgil’s garage appears disorderly, however. There’re car parts, tools, and buckets filled with bolts and screws all over the place. But there’s a hidden order to it all, one that only he knows — he can find exactly what he’s looking for.

Whenever I visit him, he shows me around his garage so I can admire his cars in their various stages of completion.

But what I admire most is not the cars. What I admire and envy is Virgil’s commitment to his craft.

No matter what work you do you’re only as good as your daily, sustained effort. Virgil embodies a consistent work ethic, and its why he’s a great mechanic.

I picture him waking up early in the morning, drinking a cup of coffee, and heading out to his garage for a day’s work. He works hard every day, refusing to slow down and only taking time off to socialize at the VFW.

And once he’s finished restoring a car, he rarely keeps it. He sells the car and uses the money to begin a new project.

This is the key to understanding why Virgil has maintained his longevity as a mechanic. He doesn’t get too focused on the “end” goal. He lets the “means” or the process drive him.

Virgil does the work because he enjoys the process of restoring a car, putting it all together like thousands of jigsaw puzzle pieces.

But it’s tough to enjoy the process of doing the work, especially for me. I get so focused on attaining the end goal that I forget the process ultimately dictates the quality of the product.

And it’s only when you stop working for the end goal, and fall in love with the process, that you perfect your craft.

And after 84 years, I suspect Virgil has perfected his.

Kitsana Dounglomchan, a 12-year Air Force veteran, writes about his life and times for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at:

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