The Saw

An unexpected revelation came to me one day while browsing through the tool section of a popular home improvement store (real tools, real store).

Almost lost among the many specialty saws hung a thing I had never seen before. It was similar in size and shape to a standard utility or combination saw, except that its handle had been moved to the narrow end of the blade, shifting the weight of the saw from the hand to the cutting surface.

Even more curious were the teeth of this saw, pointing the "wrong" way. In essence, it was a backward saw... so, I had to check this baby out.

Pulling it down from the wall, I observed the dusty few behind. The one in my hands was smudged as if it had been examined and returned several times. The tag read, "Japanese Saw," and claimed it could make smoother, more accurate cuts with less effort. Although I was working on a wood project at the time and the concept appealed to me, I decided to leave the new toy behind (hard for a guy to do) and go about my business. There are lots of gadgets that get used once and wind up on the junk pile.

Back at the shop, I needed to round off some pointy corners on a wooden table frame. It was frustrating how often my conventional saw would jam when guiding its blade into the narrow cutting area. Before I had seen that Japanese saw, it hadn't occurred to me it was ridiculous to expect a thin, flexible blade of metal to remain under control when pushed into a shallow groove. The genius of the strange "new" tool began to make sense.

I didn't want to drive back for something I might not need again, so I decided to try an experiment with my old saw. Donning some leather work gloves, I grabbed it by the narrow end of the blade, and laid the heavier handle end into the target groove of my work. The saw would cut on the back stroke, so I pushed effortlessly into my workpiece, with no resistance from the inward pointing teeth. When I drew back, the tension on the blade kept it from jamming, as I continued to move cleanly down the cut with uncanny, chatter-free precision. The sound was smoother, and I felt more balanced physically. I didn't need to apply pressure - the saw did it for me. The improvised tool worked!

Quickly finishing the task, I paused to reflect on how someone on the other side of the world had simplified a difficult cutting chore long ago. The news must have traveled slowly. Judging by the display at the home improvement store, it appeared that no one was even interested. I myself was embarrassed by an innovation so obvious, somebody should have thought of it before all these other saws were made. But the memory of wasted effort could now slip quietly away, as if it had never happened. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. Old problem solved... by an older solution.

Enlightenment comes in many forms at unexpected times, and this was that kind of epiphany, an unscheduled turn from the road map of life into the world of Alice's looking glass.

Was this really so important?

Looking back, I wonder how often our best ways of doing things were only the best we knew at the time, which, though often taught and repeated, turned out to be an illusion in the light of another point of view. Lots of times, I think. Didn't we forget the old ways and move on, as if waking from a dream?

Here's why it's important: No matter how well I do any one thing, someone somewhere is doing it better, and I may never know how - just as millions of handymen around the world continue to use forward-cutting saws - unless I keep my eyes and mind open to the unusual.

Sometimes, it's not how much information or how often we store it that makes us "smart," but whether we can shake off familiar ways of thinking. After all, nothing can be improved without change, and nobody has a lock on innovation.

That's why next time, I'm using my electric saw.