I've always loved the feeling of the cumulative nature of some work- what I call good work. It's easy to be motivated for a long haul if you can convince yourself that there will be a cumulative effect from the effort- and that each time you do something, the next thing will become easier and will be further along that imaginary line that represents where you want to be.
Of course this is partly an illusion, a construct, to help us feel that getting out of bed really does have some meaning, because rationally, we all have to admit that where we are getting is at some point in the future, the same place (or lack of place) and the getting out of bed is just as meaningful as the other bits.
A more constructive way of looking at this is that good work is simply an expression of a set of unrealised challenges, which, when undertaken, is capable of enriching our experience of self and others because the process is a learning one, and we are the better for it. It's even possible that others will benefit too, if only because we are easier to get along with when we have felt creative.
This is why I love tools, and making things to use, including tools. I sense in these things (on some primitive level), that by immersing ourselves in making things and in the means of production, we become minor expressions of the most pleasant and helpful forces that are at work in an evolving universe. But I'm quite aware that many people don't have the opportunities to feel that way, and are too busy just trying to earn enough to get by.
The other forces, the predominant ones, are the ones that are reducing us into market units; passive gullible consumers of goods created to fulfil created needs, designed to generate business. These are the hollow things, that promise wealth and well-being, but somehow don't seem to be making us any calmer or self-reliant, if only because someone, somewhere will be prepared to make them cheaper than we can.
Anyway, the new workshop has become useable, and it is a happy place to be.