The Lost Art of Giving a Damn

Last month the switch on my bicycle light snapped while I was locking it outside the supermarket. It was a small plastic lever, nothing impressive, but it had survived years of rain and winter rides. I bought a replacement at a local shop, a neat little model that promised reliability.

The casing felt lighter than it should have, but I installed it anyway. The first evening I tried to turn it on, the switch jammed halfway. Two days later the battery contacts came loose and the light flickered with every bump in the road. Not a major failure. Just another reminder that sturdiness has become unusual.

What bothered me was not the broken light. It was the pattern. I have been running into it everywhere. Repairs done without real attention. Services delivered with an attitude of good enough. Writing that reads like it was pushed out moments before a deadline. The standard of care seems to be slipping across the board. The aim is to finish the task, not to stand behind it.

The shift from creation to consumption

A big part of this comes from how our sense of reward has changed. Pride used to grow out of the act of making something solid and dependable. The work itself held meaning. Now most of the satisfaction arrives only after the money is transferred, when we can buy something new as a small prize for our effort.

If the reward sits entirely outside the process, then there is no reason to slow down. Quality becomes a delay. Care becomes something optional.

The feedback loop

You can see the same mindset in what we buy. Clothes that fray almost immediately. Tools that feel hollow the moment you lift them. Furniture that looks convincing online but softens and sags in real life. We keep accepting low quality, which encourages makers to deliver low quality in return.

If everything around us feels temporary, our own work starts to follow that rhythm. It becomes easier to accept shortcuts, because shortcuts have become the norm.

Where have the professionals gone?

Every so often you still find someone who sees their work as a craft worth defending. A person who checks the details no one else will ever notice. Someone who wants a job to feel right, even if no one is watching. These people are becoming rare enough that we remember them when we meet them.

Life would be gentler if this attitude were common again. A community shaped by people who care about the things they make would feel calmer, less frantic. A place where reputation rests on the consistency of your work rather than the speed with which you complete it.