Behold, the formerly vast expanses of my desk.

It’s pretty cool to sit here, toiling away, and glance over at my planes, thinking of what I’d much rather be doing. It’s a bit torturous at times, but it’s better than carefully stuffing my beautiful toys into a box. I consider it character.

I’ve bought and made a lot of stuff. I am on the verge of having too much stuff, partially because of my space limitations. While I’m not naive enough to think that there won’t be more stuff in the future, I’m not… you know… on the prowl anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I likes the tools. I want one of each kind of hand plane that I could stand to maintain. I want at least one more size of combo square. I want every chisel that Lie-Nielsen makes. I want a lot more clamps. I want a spill plane in case I’m ever lost in a cave without any batteries for my flashlight—and happen to have one in my backpack, along with some scrap wood.

I’ve spent a lot of time perusing catalogs. I’ve seen lots of funky and interesting one-off tools, and jigs a-plenty. For a while now, it has been a constant barrage of Stuff. So many options, so many colors—I must leave here with something.

But I really don’t need any of it.

Maybe my enthusiasm is on hiatus because I’m so busy. I like to think it’s because my space limitations have helped me to think in terms of compactness and multi-purpose-ness, to plan ahead, and to set my stuff limit much lower than most. As it stands, I have a decent, yet humble, arsenal. Everything else just increases efficiency.

Then again, maybe I just ran out of space and my subconscious is taking the high road.