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Every night, after the world demanded its pound of flesh—emails, bills, small talk, compromises—I pulled off the tarp. The smell of old grease and oxidized aluminum filled my lungs like pure oxygen. This was the only place where no one had a spreadsheet, an opinion, or a deadline.
It's about the person you become while you're building it. myfreeproject
I wasn't restoring a motorcycle. I was restoring a part of myself that got buried under performance reviews and mortgage applications. Every night, after the world demanded its pound
