Happy Uncertainty

If you would’ve told me a year ago that I was going to quit my nine to five job so I could write poetry and build my dream home, I would have laughed and told you not to let the elevator door hit you on your way out. I came into the finance world at the age of twenty-two and only had one goal in mind; early retirement. For a few years I didn’t waver in my life plan. I’d start the day with a hot coffee, maybe a few minutes of friendly conversation and banter in the office break room, then I’d let the four pale cubicle walls consume me for twelve hours a day as the chorus of keyboard typing, and phone receivers clicking rang in my ears.

Some evenings I would go straight home. Other nights I would meet my co-workers at the local dive bar across the street so we could relax and complain about the day’s challenges. The job was taxing. Most nights I found myself too exhausted to do the things I enjoyed; writing poetry, practicing piano, gardening, and remodeling my house. I spent six years riding the finance carousel. After several months of waking up in the morning and not looking forward to the coming day I turned in my resignation. Without looking back I began the next exciting chapter of my life.

I bought a small townhouse in the middle of the city when I was twenty-three. It was perhaps the biggest step in my independence. It provided a safe haven for my friends and I as we navigated through our twenties; weaving in and out of jobs, and falling in and out of romance. The house has good bones, but the carpet and lighting fixtures remind me of my grandmother’s house. All that’s missing is the velvet pink sofa, and antique tea cups lining the shelves of an old, oak china cabinet.

The first room I remodeled was the smallest bedroom to the left of the hallway. I tore out the old, tattered carpet, and began painting the walls a fantastic, dark forest green. All the walls in the house had been a stale white until now. The color seemed to breathe fresh air into my lungs again. The green walls were paired with a light chestnut wood flooring. As I started laying down the wood floor boards, I couldn’t help but think that my grandfather would have loved these colors. Before he died, his home office had hints of a forest theme, decorated in beige colors with portraits of deer hung above his bookcase.

I’d be lying if I said the renovations came easily to me. For years my life was consumed by a computer and spreadsheets. I’d never worked with my hands like this before, or used construction tools like large saws and nail guns.

I thought about quitting so many times.

After cutting multiple floorboards and wall trim pieces incorrectly, I sat in a corner of the bedroom and cried.

What was I thinking? This was insane.

Why would I ever think that I could take on a task like this? I wondered if I should stop and go back to my old job. Even though I hated every part of the position I at least had stability and was working towards a solid financial goal. Now all I was doing was burning through my savings and wasting expensive materials.

The next day I went to a local flooring store and took a class that taught me how to properly install flooring. I engrossed myself online with videos showing step-by-step how to complete installation of flooring, baseboards, closets, electrical, plumbing. Slowly my home took on a new shape.

The second bedroom renovation went much smoother than the first. I wouldn’t say I was a pro yet, but I had a good idea of what I was doing now. I managed to transform the second room into a beautiful space with three powder blue walls, and one accent wall covered in a charming floral wallpaper. The wallpaper came in four large rolls that I cut with the same orange scissors my mother used to cut out grocery coupons with every Sunday morning.

My upstairs hallway was no longer a bleached tunnel that felt like an unwanted doctor’s office. It was now a latte-colored oasis lined with artistic portraits, and landscape paintings found at local thrift stores. My favorite portrait was a large canvas of a Native American woman with her hair tucked behind her shoulders, and somber eyes. She looked fearless and the way half her face was in light and half in shadow moved me every time I crossed the hall.

The hallway bathroom no longer held a yellow-stained sink and toilet, or the crusty linoleum that hadn’t been replaced since 1976. My feet now glided on sparkling white tile as I approached the porcelain tub for my evening baths with a glass of merlot in hand.

My little townhouse embodies two people currently. The downstairs living room, dining area, and kitchen haven’t been touched yet. When I walk through my front door I’m greeted by the person I once was, and some days, still am. Then as I ascend my stairwell I’m welcomed by the person I want to be, and some days, already am.

My life right now is messy and chaotic. I live between bedsheets and painting canisters. I cook dinner between plates and tool boxes. The jewelry chest that once graced my bedroom dresser is now replaced with hammers and wood glue.

I’ve left my old corporate world behind me for a life of happy uncertainty and I’ve never been more proud of myself.