I used to think time was inconsequential, but then last year happened.

It was my senior year in high school, and the start of my second year in Massachusetts. I moved here from Upstate New York the summer of 2013. I remember the taunts of my friends, “You’re going to have a Boston accent!” and I know for sure I laughed them off. I wasn’t going to “convert.” I denied change as the only vehicle through which to accept it. Talk about hubris, but it made the move easy. I knew who I was, and what my goals were.

Finding a college was relatively simple, and by the fall of my senior year I was registered at Merrimack College as a double major in English and Secondary Education. Everything was in alignment. My friends were wrong about the accent though (funny how not everyone here has one), and it shouldn’t be surprising that I was misled as well. It turns out I didn’t know myself as well as I thought I did. And that person? I’m not sure I would recognize them now.

This past year taught me to be enthusiastic about change and encouraged by challenges. Previously, I took comfort in the fact that my concept of self was a constant. I could retreat into it. But this very singular focus is isolating and, as I would now argue, a very narrow, uninspired way to live life. You miss the chance to grow as a person, to discover unexpected potential. Developing passions, pursuing them relentlessly, and experimenting within them is one of the great joys of life. You can’t do this without a little bit of risk. I took a chance last year to explore an interest of mine completely contrary to anything I had done in the past. I traded my scripts for dory plans, and dared myself to get involved with a craft and history unique to my new town, a culture entirely separate from the one I grew up with. In December of my senior year, I joined the apprentice program at Lowell's Boat Shop.

Located in Amesbury MA, Lowell’s Boat Shop is the oldest continuously operating wooden boat shop in the United States. Established in 1793, Lowell’s is a national historic landmark and working museum dedicated to preserving and perpetuating the art and craft of wooden boat building. The apprenticeship opens the door for high school students to learn the craft of boat building in the traditional method unique to Lowell’s. From December to the end of August, I worked with five other apprentices to build a 27ft surf dory under the direction of two dedicated master boat builders. This transformative experience is understood primarily through two aspects of craft: the unparalleled experience of building and shaping something with your hands, and the artists who advocate for it with specific expertise and a passion that they use to guide others. This guidance is important because it enables the preservation of method and history, an interplay utterly fascinating and deeply interwoven with wooden boat building.

I went into the apprenticeship knowing very little, which in reality is much closer to nothing at all. I hadn’t heard of Lowell’s until my math class visited in October; we learned trig by rowing out on the Merrimack River with sextants. We collected our own data, and brought what we found back to the classroom. This program, Math on the River, was the start of a life-altering year for me. The shop’s history drew me in, and so I stumbled through the doors not too long after our class’ visits eager to learn what I could. It was an unexpected match, to say the least. It’s certainly laughable now, but there was a time where I was afraid of using a drill. I was that theatre kid hiding in the corner during set construction holding a paint brush trying to look busy. I had no idea what to expect, not even from myself. But I was willing to try, excited to do what I could. Through this, I learned not to limit myself.

The apprenticeship revolutionized how I viewed myself as a person, and it still does. I fell in love with the craft of wooden boat building: spiling planks, matching and standard bevels, and the intuition you start to earn through experience building. The artistry of the craft lays in the careful work that is done by eye, as you decide on happy curves, the line of your sheer, you have to trust yourself. There is a delicate balance between definite measurements and experienced intuition that lends itself to the shape of your boat, and again pays tribute to the unique nature of craft itself. I fall in love with this every day.

There is no place that makes me happier than Lowell’s Boat Shop, there on the river with the winter sunsets and wood stoves burning, every season has its highlights. I spend every bit of time that I possibly can there, when a little over a year ago I didn’t even know the place existed. A trademark of the apprentice experience, and this is due to the people who work there, in all capacities from builder to member, is that the door is always open. There is always work to be done, and joy is found by providing the opportunities to engage youth and the community in doing all that they can to learn more about the craft, and participate in an active and ongoing history.

I’ve never been more passionate about what I was doing. Work on the surf dory may have finished in August, but she still has to be rigged, and I’ve been able to help with the building of other boats as well through helping out with their adult classes. I spent the early part of the summer speaking with school groups, and spent a couple days working with elementary kids in a woodworking workshop … and all of this has redefined my idea of purpose and work worth doing. It’s a gift to work by the river and lend my time to both learning about the craft of wooden boat building and encouraging others to do the same.

Many things have changed this past year. I had the chance to reinvent myself after one experience altered my perception of passion and its impact on the world, and I learned just how much more I had to grow as a person to continue changing and better understanding myself. My definition of who I am is radically different. Last summer I fell off my high horse — or more accurately, turned jet ski into a submarine. (We also knew how to have fun on the water). I had to try it at least once. You’re supposed to use just a little bit of gas to get it started … I did not quite get the hang of that. That thing pulled me straight under, to the amusement of those watching. Yet it's another story I look back and laugh on. It may have been embarrassing as hell, but it still brings a smile to my face as well as reminds me that there will always be things I fail fantastically at. This is no reason, however, to keep from trying.

Last year I plunged head first into a culture completely alien to me and found that it resonated with me so deeply, that I had to give all that I could to it. I’m driven to do that still today. And although I’m still on a path to be a teacher, now with a double major in English and French, there is seemingly conflict between where I’m headed and the influence I feel most strongly. But one thing correlates between the two that I take solace in. There is no greater source of fulfillment for me than to take something I love deeply and share it with someone else. Building a boat was a hands-on experience that also served as the most powerful learning experience of my life.

A traditional classroom may not be what you think it is. The small moments at the Shop in which I’ve been able to share with others some of the knowledge I’ve gained remind me of why I’ve always wanted to teach. Lowell’s has taught me how to be the best version of myself this past year, and I’m still learning. I’m moving forward to do all that I can to live what I’ve learned, and dedicate myself to what is important — with all the thanks going to the place and people who inspire me.