I sat down to write this morning, and the words that came I deleted. Three times. Then I wrote about nothing. The first three times, I felt reactionary and defensive, confused and, I'll admit, curious. But everything I started to write sounded like bait to me, and that is not healthy. It's been a rougher couple of days than I would have liked, but at the same time, wonderfully enlightening and laden with growth and progress. Discovering that a confidante was not as supportive as originally thought was difficult enough; but then to discover that someone who never had any interest in me suddenly wants to know what I have to say on a daily basis is much more disconcerting. (Just ask, I say.)
What I really want to write about is paint chips. I'm considering them today, and getting excited about the new possibilities they represent for me. Having a project is a great way to make it to tomorrow. Especially since tomorrow is always uncertain. A friend (not the aforementioned) just fixed the railing on our balcony, and suddenly there is so much I want to do! The balcony was once my favorite "room" in the house. I remember spending hours there each evening in the summer while my husband took our oldest son to the pool: a welcome break for a stay-at-home mom, pregnant with #2. Once the baby was born, I would spend many mornings out there, nursing him and reading in the morning sunshine.
I'm not sure what brought me in from out there....probably a busy toddler the following summer.....but sometime after that, the railing was damaged in a storm, and going out there with children was just too risky. And like so many things in life, "priorities" got in the way of repairing it.
Which leads me to today. Steve fixed the railing over the weekend, and ever since he came over to measure, I've been picturing the new space. Knowing that the railing needs to be painted, I have been considering colors for the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the doors, and looking through my old scrapbooks of ideas for making it special. Pinterest will be my next stop, along with a visit to a dear friend who has sold her house and is selling much of their stuff in preparation for a move. I'm picturing the floor, and wondering what furniture to put on it; a rug for the spring and fall? Who can I call for electricity? And what will I hang on the walls? And I'm running through my favorite inspirational quotes, and wondering how they would look on the railings, or along the ceiling.
New beginnings like this one are joyful, abounding in anticipation; much like my life right now. I have been through the wringer, but, like the laundry referenced in the expression, I have come out cleansed and refreshed; ready for another challenge. For a short time, I considered the benefits of starting over in another place and time. In reality, however, that just amounts to running and hiding; to not facing what brought me here to this place and time. Making the decision to stand my ground has turned out to be far more fulfilling, productive and mature. Instead, I will make this space better, along with myself and my (important) relationships.
Not every project turns out as expected or anticipated; and not every relationship turns out to be the friendship we hoped for. Both are frustrating. The good news is, we can always start again--another new beginning, filled with joy and anticipation. And a little bit of anxiety. Okay, more than just a little bit sometimes, but I refuse to be paralyzed by it. I'm learning to take more risks when they benefit the ones I love, including that bit of me that needs my nurturing. Before snow falls, I hope to have a new spot to write, to contemplate, to meditate, to pray. Not just on my balcony, either, but also in myself.
I am my favorite current project.
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