“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.” ~ Flora Whittemore
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” ~ Dan Wilson, Semisonic
Wednesday night I went for a run and was thinking about the post I planned on writing today. And somewhere along climbing a hill my thoughts suddenly caught my attention like a heaved sidewalk. “What if?” I allowed myself to think. And thus, this post was born from the sting of salt in my eyes, an ache in my quad, and a hole in my heart two years in the making.
Sunday will mark the second anniversary of our contractor walking off our job. He threw a smile over his shoulder and waved just like any of the days before it. But he never came back. Some of that is because we finally issued him the ultimatum of more finished work on our bathroom/bedroom renovation and fewer promises of days on-site. But mostly it was his last day because of a myriad of his choices I am not privy to. All I know is that he made choices, but those choices hurt me and my family.
And yesterday we finally closed the door on that chapter of our life. Our remodel passed its final inspections and now the permit is marked “final and closed”. Hallelujah! right? Wednesday night I allowed myself to think, just for a moment, what if we pass and we’re finally done? It made me smile and run a bit faster up the rest of the hill. But then I realized my “what if” thought was more than simply closing the door on the process of remodeling two rooms in my house.
What I pondered was the lifting of an albatross-like weight I have carried for two years: the weight of feeling vulnerable, victimized, and stupid.
For two years I have been stuck in one place, deer-in-head-lights fashion, unable to move forward or really in any direction. Instead of being galvanized to finish the unfinished projects, I have been reticent to even work on the smallest of tasks like painting trim. I’m sure the fine folks in mental health have all kinds of explanations for my emotional quagmire, but what best describes it for me is dread. Nearly every part of moving forward has filled me with a gut-wrenching, heart-palpatating dread.
But no more. I have now shut the door on that chapter. I am choosing to let go and move forward.
I am choosing to open the door to a new tomorrow, a new possibility, a new me.
And I am pretty sure that me is a little wiser, a little tougher and a little faster at running up hills.