Paddle Your Own Canoe: One Man's Principles for Delicious Living

by Nick Offerman

I find it consistently difficult to get around the notion that we are all, in our very natures, assholes. I am an asshole. I’m afraid you are also. That’s why the conversation about good manners even exists in the first place. We’re cognizant, curious beings, capable of philosophical thought, nuclear physics, repeating Nerf weapons, global consciousness, Glade air fresheners, and sentient automobiles. But we’re assholes first.

Choose your favorite spade and dig a small, deep hole, located deep in the forest or a desolate area of the desert or tundra. Bury your cell phone and then find a hobby.

“Figure out what you love to do, then figure out how to get paid to do it.”

to fill one’s life with the opportunity for seeing solid, real-life results as opposed to virtual. In my opinion, all of the “living” that people do online, in social networks, elaborate multiplayer games, blogs, and so on, is often merely the facsimile of real life, and so it is ultimately unsatisfying. I’m not speaking in absolutes here, for there is clearly a lot of value in social networking. Even my canoe work is enhanced by the ability to commune with other boatbuilders in online forums, asking and answering questions in areas of specialty that would have been inscrutable a mere ten years ago. What I’m addressing more specifically with this writing is how easy it is for we funny monkeys to waste our precious time on these convenient gadgets. I have always liked to carry a book with me, so during a lull at the dentist’s office, or the bus stop, I have something to do that I have chosen. I know that if I’m stuck with only my smartphone, I’ll simply browse the unlimited possibilities made available, with no perceivable result beyond providing a diversion for my attention. That’s the rub. I would rather get something done.

It’s important to me, when I finish any pursuit, to be able to look back at my work and see a tangible result.

how I pick people to work with me, and I get this from my dad’s teaching of fundamentals. I just give a prospective apprentice a broom and tell them to sweep. The quality of the job they do tells me a great deal about them. Attention to detail, willingness to go the extra mile, pace, fastidiousness, or lack thereof. If you can, hire the gal or guy who moves the furniture and rugs to sweep beneath them. Their work speaks directly of their desire to contribute to the well-being of the community. They know how to do a job right.

There’s no denying that many of the opportunities that have come my way over the years came partially thanks to my willingness to work hard. It’s been said that luck is when opportunity meets with preparation, so I will always remember to thank my teachers and taskmasters for giving me the necessary preparation to get goddamn lucky, time and time again.

The debate over the semantics of “preference” versus “orientation” is utter nonsense, and if you even suggest to me that one might “pray the gay away,” I will kick you soundly in your nuts or your juice box, just like I believe Jesus would have. Gay people are for real. They are part of our group. That is, “all of the people.”

If one was responsible and hardworking when the job required it, then one was free to fuck around as much as one wanted to when the work was over!

A moustache is a socialized way to say, “Okay, look, I’ll let you see most of my face, since that’s what we’re all doing right now, but if you would kindly direct your gaze to this thornbush above my mouth, you will be reminded that I am a fucking animal, and I’m ready to reproduce, or rip your throat out if called upon, because I come from nature.”

In response to the query, “How do you grow that robust moustache for Ron Swanson?” I can walk you through the steps: 1. I don’t shave my lip area. 2. After two weeks, I have a passable moustache, in the form of long, luxurious stubble. 3. I continue to eschew the razor. 4. After three to four weeks, my whiskers have developed to the point where I can play a sheriff who is so tough that he eats nails, but still not Swanson. 5. I refuse to shave. 6. After five weeks, the whiskers growing from just beneath my nostrils have extended down, wirelike, to reach my top lip, a distance of one full imperial inch. Now, and only now, may I don the pleated Dockers and thick, long-sleeved knits of Pawnee’s director of Parks and Recreation with confidence and authority.

“Come to the cliff,” he said. They said, “We are afraid.” “Come to the cliff,” he said. They came, he pushed them and they flew. The sense of it is, come to the edge of the cliff, face the leap, and be afraid. Then acknowledge your fear, step forward once more, and then push yourself off the cliff.

Whatever it is that makes you different, weird, unique from the others, it is that, if anything, which will see you prosper.