It’s only Tuesday morning and I have already underestimated two significant projects this week. This unknowing plays a significant part in me actually getting things done.
I worked for nearly the whole day on our “catch-all’ closet, releasing a majority of the things that really didn’t need to be caught. I arranged plastic folders and papers. I went through all the Christmas decorations, taking out such items as broken ornaments, the BB gun targets, the grip strength tool and the sombrero. (I never would have imagined that the one thing my French husband and my Minnesota grandma had in common was the inability to throw out the closet sombrero.) I broke down and recycled the random boxes that seemed so useful while opening the gifts. I rearranged and dusted and vacuumed. Several hours and two full garbage bins later, the closet was clean. Voilà, as we say.
Fueled by the momentum, and a head full of “how hard could that be?”, I decided to paint my bathroom yesterday. By the time I finished cleaning, scrubbing and dusting, I was already tired, but there was no turning back. Were the ceilings always this high? With a ladder and extension rollers, and a brush I taped to some sort of pole I found next to the pool cue and hockey stick collection in the garage, I stretched and reached and sweated my way through coat one. Muscled my way through thoughts of, ironically, “what was I thinking!” Then struggled my way through coat two.
I love the results of both projects. I mention it only to remind myself of the real lesson here. I have been guilty through the years of praying for answers. Oh, how desperately we want to know the answers. When really, the thing that so often gets me through is just this blind, adorable, audacious hope. So I remind myself, again, and for the first time, this “unknowing” that you’re so afraid of, let it go…look around and begin…my heart whispering in both ears, “How hard could it be?”
