The Art of Doing Things With Your Hands

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One of my fondest memories from my time at Google was doing yoga with my coworkers in front of the Louvre.

Yes, I know. It sounds like the kind of sentence that should only exist in a corporate offsite fever dream. But it happened. There we were, a group of people who usually spent our days in spreadsheets, strategy decks, and meetings about meetings, suddenly standing in Paris, stretching in front of one of the most iconic museums in the world.

Was I particularly good at yoga? Actually, yes... but I was also aware that doing downward dog in front of centuries of art and confused tourists was slightly absurd.

But years later, I still remember it. Not because it was the most luxurious thing I've ever done, or because everyone became enlightened somewhere between warrior two and team dinner. I remember it because it broke the pattern. It took us out of our usual roles and put us into a shared moment where no one was presenting, pitching, or optimizing.

We were just there. Together. Slightly awkward, slightly amused, very present.

While we can't always do yoga in front of the Louvre, I've been thinking a lot about why that memory stayed with me. Recently, I had a similar feeling much closer to home. No passport, no Paris, but just three subway stops from our co-working space, my cofounder and I went to a handbag-making class.

At first, it felt like a cute activity. Something to do instead of pretending we were the kind of people who casually make handbags on a Tuesday. But within a few minutes, something shifted.

We were choosing materials, working with our hands, figuring out how to shape something from scratch. There is something humbling about making something physical when your usual work happens in tabs, tools, and Slack threads. You cannot multitask your way through it. You cannot half-listen while secretly answering an email. The act of making something asks for your full attention.

And that might be the whole point.

So much of modern work is abstract: alignment, growth, deliverables, momentum. We spend hours discussing things that don't physically exist yet. Even meaningful work can start to feel disembodied. Then suddenly you're cutting leather, kneading dough, arranging flowers, or plating an oyster, and your nervous system gets the memo before your inbox does. Oh. We are here now.

You also learn a lot about people when they're making something. Who's patient. Who's experimental. Who reads the instructions, and who decides the instructions are more of a loose spiritual guide. Who encourages others when something goes wrong, and who gets quietly absorbed in the tiny details.

That kind of presence creates a different kind of connection that isn't just the forced kind of an icebreaker where everyone shares a fun fact while questioning their life choices. We weren't sitting across from each other trying to bond. We were side by side, figuring it out as we went.

This is something we think about constantly at Innit. The best experiences don't have to be extravagant. They have to be intentional. Yoga in front of the Louvre is memorable (obviously), but so is a handbag-making class three subway stops away. So is a block-printing workshop, a pasta-making class, a floral arranging session, a chef-led tasting, a quiet afternoon learning a craft most people have never tried before.

The activity matters, but what it unlocks matters more.

A team doesn't need another forced bonding exercise. It needs a reason to be present. A moment people will actually remember... the kind that makes someone say, months later, "wait, remember when we did that?"

That's the art of doing things with your hands. Done right, it's also the art of building a team.