Unexpected Gifts

There are moments in life that change your trajectory—not with a bang, but with a whisper. For me, that whisper came during the darkest part of 2020… and it arrived in the form of a hand-written letter.

When the COVID lockdowns first hit, I did what I always do in a crisis: prepare, research, take care of mine. I stayed busy and didn’t realize the slow crawl of depression sneaking up behind me. But before long, I was barely crafting. I was just working and sleeping. The spark was gone.

Enter my wife—my partner, my lifeline. She saw I was slipping and, without telling me, reached out to someone I’d admired for years: Don Gonzales, master leatherworker, cowboy artist, and teacher to so many of us through his videos. I’d watched Don’s work with awe for years, but never once spoken to him.

Weeks later, she handed me a package with a quiet smile. Inside: a few t-shirts, some stickers… and at the bottom, a folded note. Not a receipt. Not a card.

A hand-written letter.

It read:

“This year has been a test for all of us to say the least. I am so glad to find out that the craft that I love has become such a big part of your life. Life is good when with leather. Welcome to the leather family. Keep Slinging Leather.”

I broke down.

That moment cracked the shell I had been trapped inside. It didn’t fix everything overnight—but it reminded me that I wasn’t alone. It took a day or two, but Don’s words shook the chains off. And in the weeks that followed, I stopped chasing catchy ideas to sell at craft fairs and started creating my first truly custom piece. Something from the heart.

I never got the chance to thank Don in person. I once made my way to his shop in Texas, only to find he was off at the Sheridan Leather Show. But someday… I will.

That letter is still pinned to the wall of my shop. It catches my eye exactly when I need it most. And it’s shaped who I’ve become—not just as a craftsman, but as a person.

Now, I try to be that person for others. Whether it’s fellow crafters, students, or customers—I lead with care, with compassion, and with the understanding that sometimes a kind word is the most powerful tool we have.

And if you’re reading this right now, feeling that same fog settle in—hear me clearly: The slump is real. It hits everyone. But you’re not broken. You’re just tired. Find what fills your tank. For me, it’s making something for someone, just because. Seeing their joy, their surprise—it brings me back.

So keep slinging leather, friend. You’re not alone in this.