Japanese woodworkers spend years learning to sharpen a chisel. Not to use it, just to sharpen it. They'll plane a board for hours to achieve a surface so smooth it glows, when sandpaper could finish the job in minutes. To Western eyes, this looks like waste. To them, it's the only way.

We've built an industry around speed. Sprint planning, rapid prototyping, move fast and break things. But a master carpenter doesn't rush the cut. They measure twice, breathe, feel the grain of the wood, and only then do they act. The cut itself takes seconds. The preparation takes as long as it takes.

I've watched developers rush to implement features before understanding the problem. I've seen teams adopt frameworks before learning the fundamentals. I've done it myself, jumped to solutions like making a cut before understanding the grain. The wood splits. The code breaks. And you've wasted more time than you saved.

Japanese craftsmen have a word: shokunin. It means more than craftsman. It means someone who approaches their work with a commitment to perfection, not for glory or speed, but because the work itself demands it. The code you write today will outlive your sprint. It deserves that same respect.

The best code I've written came after weeks of not writing any code at all. Just thinking. Walking. Sharpening the blade. When I finally sat down to write, the solution was obvious. Not because I'm clever, but because I'd given myself permission to move at the speed of understanding.

There's a Japanese joinery technique called sashimono, furniture built without nails or screws, just wood fitting into wood with such precision that it holds for centuries. This is only possible with patience. Each joint is cut slowly, tested, adjusted. Rushed joinery fails. Rushed code fails the same way.

Speed has its place. A sharp chisel still cuts quickly. But the sharpening cannot be rushed. Most of what we call development is sharpening, understanding the problem, learning the domain, designing the solution. The actual coding is just the cut.

So take your time. Let things settle. Trust that the hours spent in preparation will save weeks of fixing what breaks. A Japanese woodworker would never apologize for working slowly. They'd apologize for working carelessly.

Some things are worth rushing. Most things aren't. And the things that matter, the things built to last, require the patience of someone who knows that good work and fast work are rarely the same thing.