I never planned to keep doing this.
Furniture was a stop-gap, a bridge to my next career after quitting medicine. But slowly, with every new project, every new skill acquired, and every new relationship, something surprising revealed itself, like discovering walnut’s woodgrain under layers of decades-old paint:
I love this work.
And when I leave Asheville for Oklahoma City next week, I won’t forget who gave me that gift.
“You’ve been in here a few times,” the cashier said. “You doin’ this for a living or what?”
I tried to explain. First, I needed to furnish our home. Second, I didn’t yet know what I’d be doing for work. We’d just moved from Santa Barbara a week before, and in that cross-country process, we’d sold all of our furniture. This shop—Madison Reclaim in Marshall—had been our saving grace, I told him. I was refinishing a desk, chest, side table, chair and headboard I’d found inside the store. And I’d really enjoyed the process.
“You should think about doing it full-time,” he said. “There’s not enough people around here working on furniture. And around Western Carolina, there’s a lot of good furniture.”
Three months later, after refinishing and selling two desks, a dresser, and two antique vanities, I got an Instagram message. From Friend of Furniture, a bonafide furniture refinisher in Downtown Asheville. They liked my work. I was stunned. They invited me to stop by their shop. I did. They said I should consider getting a vendor’s space at The Regeneration Station. I signed a lease two weeks later.
One month in the booth, I’d sell everything and think, I’ve got this figured out. The next month, I’d sell nothing and think, I have to get out of this business as soon as possible. Lots of hopeless drives home on Amboy thinking about how to sell more furniture. Retail is hard, people had told me. Retail is hard, I told everyone who asked me how it was going. But enough people kept buying furniture. And I got better.
By September 2024, a year after I’d begun at The Regeneration Station, it was time to pivot. Sourcing, refinishing, and selling furniture wasn’t for me. I liked working on furniture, not marketing furniture, so I planned to liquidate everything and become a furniture refinisher-for-hire. With three days left on my lease, with a booth full of furniture still to be sold, Hurricane Helene dumped twenty inches of rain on Western Carolina and filled The Regeneration Station with twelve feet of water.
Plans changed.
A day before the storm, I’d scheduled a consultation at a woman’s home, where she wanted me to refinish her bedroom set. Two weeks later, my phone pinged. A calendar notification. Oh my God! I’m supposed to be at her house in an hour! My shop had no water or internet, but we did have electricity. I felt blessed for that, all things around us considered, and I needed to get back to work. I called the client, thinking she probably wouldn’t want the projected completed now because of well… everything.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Hi, this is Ryan with Fight Furniture.”
“Hey Ryan, you gonna be here in an hour?”
I grabbed my keys, drove forty-five minutes south to Flat Rock, and picked up the hardest and most meaningful job of my life.
It took me four weeks to strip the paint. Another four weeks to stain and refinish. Though, for my investment of repetitious, monotonous effort, I was given a tremendous gift: the chance to not think about the storm. People leaving town. Bodies discovered. Businesses shuttered. I was never more grateful to have a scraper in my hand, the shop door open for the cool fall breeze. When I delivered the bedroom set back to the client’s home, it was the most proud I’ve ever been of any of my work.
When the calendar turned to 2025, the jobs came steadier. More repeat business. More referrals. Stronger relationships. When I was on those jobs, I found myself talking to my customers more than I worked on their furniture. (I pray this was as enjoyable for them as it was for me.) My favorite days became house-call days, where I’d show up with my tools and supplies and figure out how to repair furniture, while talking to people. I kinda felt like a doctor again. Back home, I knew I’d done something personally meaningful.
By this summer, I was busy. The stop-gap hobby has morphed into a full-time profession. The bridge became the destination. But by fall, in a twist as surprising as my career in furniture, my wife and I sensed it was time to go home.
Will furniture go with me? Well, just to feel like myself, I have no choice but to take hold of my pull scraper and see what’s underneath the next layer of paint.
Thank you to everyone who supported my business. Every client. Mitch and Deb at Friend of Furniture. The whole team at The Regeneration Station. The volunteers at Habitat Restore Asheville. Everyone at Madison Reclaim. Allison and the good people at Sherwin Williams. Michelle at MidMix Furnishings. Emily with Fresh Furniture by Emily. Denise at Print House.
Asheville, thank you for the chance to work on your furniture. And yes, as the cashier told me two and half years ago, the furniture was good, but I can say, with unwavering certainty, that the people were even better.
(Ryan writes a weekly newsletter, The Cutback, where he helps people find meaningful work. You can join for free here.)
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