The Skull
A spooky origin story
Three years ago, I decided to make a Halloween decoration for the front of my house.
I didn’t know it then, but that project would lead me to rediscover the joy of making, heal from burnout, and ultimately co-found Practice.
So…story time!
But first, context
October 2022 was a strange time. I was going through my first-ever layoff, which is plenty to process on its own, but to make things extra complicated, it was happening in slow motion. In August, we were told that the San Francisco office would close in late October/November and that we’d all lose our jobs. That meant three months of limbo.
A normal response would be to scale back attention and effort, and focus on finding a new job. But I kept working hard until my last day, partly because of my blessing-and-a-curse intense sense of responsibility, and partly because I had built my team from two people to twenty-six over the prior six years. I cared deeply about them and wanted to set them up for success.
But the slow-motion goodbye was kind of heartbreaking. I was exhausted and running on fumes. Luckily, I had planned to take a break before looking for a new job, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what I was going to do next.
I guess…make a giant skull?
Unintentionally healing by making
The plan was ambitious: I wanted to create an eight-foot-wide skull that would wrap around the front entrance of our house. I’d never made anything that big, but I had an idea for how I could make it work.
I remembered using foam insulation sheets in college sculpture classes. They’re lightweight, easy to carve, and available at any hardware store.
So after a trip to Home Depot with my husband, Alex, and a very unsafe car ride home with 4 ft x 8ft sheets of pink foam stretching from the windshield to our trunk, I got into the garage and started tinkering.
I layered the sheets of foam, sculpting and shaping them as I went. I had an initial plan, but had to improvise when the jawbone didn’t match the curve of the railing, and when I realized I hadn’t figured out how to hang it. And many other times! But I had to move quickly and decisively, because Halloween was right around the corner.
And something happened.
As I sanded, sculpted, and painted, I felt my energy come back. I stopped spiraling over the mass layoff, and started thinking about how to make the project work.
The fear and uncertainty of what was coming next slowly got replaced by curiosity and excitement.
It felt…magical.
Soon after, I built my first dollhouse as a gift for a friend’s daughter and felt the same spark. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just the skull and its spooky Halloween magic. It was the act of making itself: the learning, problem-solving, and sense of progress. It was healing me and replenishing my zapped energy. Providing me with clarity on and off the craft mat.
I also realized my burnout was deeper than I’d admitted, and I really needed that reset. And I had found an antidote that was literally in my hands.
It all started with a skull
Before the skull, I’d taken the occasional art class and done some light crafting since college, but nothing consistent. Instead I had poured nearly all of my time and energy into work, leaving little space for things done simply for joy.
The skull changed that. It showed me that creative making was one of the most replenishing, enjoyable things I could do for myself. And that the joy I felt was transferable and inspiring to others.
Cars slowed down to look at the skull, and from our kitchen window we overheard the delight of people walking by, especially when we made fog pour out of its nose. On Halloween, kids got excited to visit the skull house (we also gave out full bars of candy, so that may have contributed to it).
But beyond creating contagious joy, the skull changed the trajectory of my life.
It led to a conversation between Ben and I about how much creative hobbies had helped us both. After more research and many discussions, we decided to co-found Practice to help others experience that same joy. But had I not made the skull, and experienced the healing power of craft in the very moment that I needed it most, and then continued my making with a dollhouse, Practice probably wouldn’t exist.
Last weekend, after Alex and I hung up the skull with help from a neighbor, I realized it was my third skull-iversary. Or craftiversary?
Regardless of the made-up word, I have my annual reminder (via a big, foam, toothy grin) that craft is powerful, and has the ability to change lives. Just like it changed mine.