Wonder Found in the Routine

One of the things I get to do at my job is play with a really expensive, 5-axis, CNC machine.  CNC stands for Computer Numerical Control.  Still no help?  It’s a big and expensive robot that cuts stuff up.  The owner, my boss, has said multiple times that he could probably make the machine braid my hair - a comment to which I laugh a little inside because he clearly has not noticed my large patch of male-patterned baldness.  However, the machine is so precise, I’d probably let it shave my head with a straight razor.

A couple days ago, I was cutting door components where the machine was performing complex miters through Sapele (it’s a type of wood) like a hot knife through butter.  The owner asked me a question, “Does watching this machine perform those complex miters not give you a whole new appreciation for what this machine can do?”

To his surprise, I responded with a very succinct, “No.”  He looked at me with mixed emotions, not knowing whether I was joking or if I was actually that unimpressed with his super expensive toy.  I realized the need to clarify.

The CNC machine is a modern marvel.  I can cut all of the parts for an entire house full of cabinets in less than one day.  I can put a perfectly straight line on any piece of lumber, HDMF, or soft metal.  I can carve words in any font imaginable in the same materials.  I can create a perfect sphere.  I could probably shave my head with a straight razor…

When realistic expectations are set based on known and well-defined parameters, why would we be impressed when the person or machine performs and action well within those limitations?  When my 2-year-old goes potty in the little red plastic toilet, it’s cause for celebration because, up to this point, she’s quite comfortable with her size 5 diapers sagging 3-4 inches lower than they probably should.  When I go potty, there’s no fanfare or M&M’s waiting for me on the other side of the door.  At my age, still having 98.3% of my faculties, I should be well-versed on toilet usage.

My response and explanation of my curt response was very pragmatic.  It did a great job of sucking the wonder out of the moment.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have come home and my kids come running to the door, “Daddy’s home!” I get hugs, kisses, and then immediately asked to hold their hands and make them “jump up to the sky,” or am taunted with, “You can’t get me… nah, nah, nah, boo, boo.”  My phone goes someplace where I can’t check it every 10 minutes and the routine evening of being a dad begins.  It happens every night like clockwork… and it never fails to make me feel like the most blessed person on the planet earth.  Wonder found in the routine.

I’m not suggesting that pragmatism and wonder can’t coexist, but sometimes, just sometimes, it’s good to experience the “usual” and the “expected” as if it was the first time.  Your first kiss.  Your first time riding a bike.  Your first day on the job.  The first time you looked in your future spouse’s eyes and realized you loved them enough to marry them.  The first time your child opened their eyes and looked into yours.  There isn’t much new under the sun, but what would our lives look like if we let just a little bit more of it be treated that way?