I’d planned to but almost didn’t write this post today. I’m tired, sore, and grouchy. Later, I thought. Maybe tomorrow. Then I remembered what I’d written on the About page of this blog: “On this site, I hope to explore what it is to experience this life from the perspective of inner truth and knowing. To strip away the stuff and look at what’s underneath and inside. Who we really are.”
If I’m going to strip away the stuff, I have to first be willing to look at it. And if I’m going to post honestly (which I promise you, I am), I have to be willing to show you my tired, sore, grouchy side as readily as my shiny, happy, ready-for-company one.
We spent a long weekend at a little cabin we own in the woods. It’s lovely there—trees and quiet, mostly. Two of my favorite things. We bought the place a little more than a year ago. Because we aren’t rock stars or investment bankers, it’s in need of work. Again, because of that rock stars/investment bankers thing, we’re doing the work ourselves. Usually, we enjoy it.
The past four days wouldn’t be listed under the usually heading. The plan was to remove the old flooring (ancient peel-and-stick linoleum tiles) and install some dark laminate planks. The hubs was pretty sure we’d be done in two days—one for removal and prep, one for installation. I thought it might take longer than that, but was sure we’d finish up before heading back to the city.
We were both wrong. Three and a half hours northeast of here is an itty-bitty cabin in the woods. If you were to open its front door right now, you’d see a prepped floor and a fistful of new planks that refused to play nice. Were they children, they would not be merrily singing The More We Get Together. Instead, they’d be scowling and refusing to hold hands.
For the first three of the four days, though every aspect of the project turned out to be more difficult than we’d anticipated, we kept it in perspective. We were together, well-fed, and working side-by-side on a cabin we’d dreamed of owning for years. Blessed, no less.
Then there was Day Four. At one point, while I was hunched over the last section of the old flooring (Which. Would. Not. Freaking. Budge.), my back aching and my good humor nowhere in sight, I cursed the old man who’d put that crap down decades before. I set down my tools, looked at my husband, and said, “I swear, if we ever see Irv again, I’m going to punch him clean in the face.”
Yeah. Not my finest moment. There might have been some stuff atop my inner divinity right about then. 😉
Anyway, what I had planned to write about this week was how no matter where we are on this journey, we built the lives we are currently living one brick at a time. Each thought, intention, decision—good or bad—and each step along our way have landed us where we stand. Wise. Happy. Frightened. Uncertain. All of the above. One brick at a time.
The good thing about bricks is that they can be removed, too. Usually, one at a time, like this: I’m sorry, Irv. I will certainly not be punching you in the face and I apologize for the delight I took yesterday in the thought of it. Thank you for the love you put into the cabin.
If needed—if we’ve bricked ourselves into a real mess—we can level the whole thing and start again. We’ve all watched as crews set charges and imploded giant structures. It’s awe-inspiring. Something so huge can be reduced to a pile of bricks in mere seconds.
And you know what old bricks are especially good for? Building something wonderful, fresh, and new.
~*~ Today’s image courtesy of pixabay.com ~ Free and fabulous. ~*~