It’s spring-time in Texas. I just moved my little family to a new apartment a few weeks ago. People keep asking me, why did you move? More space for my daughter, more greenbelt for my dog, and a home office for me, I say. And most of all, my old neighborhood (Riverside) was turning into a construction zone.
Well. I was saying that. Until I moved into my new place and discovered some construction equipment outside my patio. What’s this about? I inquired, highly skeptical. Ladders. Scaffolding. Wheelbarrows. Oh, that! The gal at the office was happy to inform me that they were rebuilding my patio, and the two floors above me, starting soon. Starting when, I said? Soon, she said.
I was filled with a sense of irony and dread. Seriously? I just moved here from a literal construction zone. She just smiled politely at me.
The following week the construction began. Boards went up over the bottom half of my big patio doors. The banging and the drilling started. Demo time. I had some big choices to make. Namely, was I going to live through the construction? Or was I going to evacuate daily to work and for my daughter to do school? What about my blessed sunset hour each night? I had so been looking forward to quiet nights on my new private patio.
Under the vibrations of frustration and anger, and of course self pity, I heard a whisper.
Take up space Liz. Inhabit the community and space you’re in.
And so I did. I moved my patio set out to the back yard behind my building, and let my neighbors know they were welcome to use it. I hung my curtains so I could have privacy during the hours of construction work. I vowed to get up earlier so I could have my morning silence before it began every morning. I made a point to introduce myself to the lead of the construction crew and asked him not to play music so loudly during work hours, told him that we were working inside these walls too. He was very accommodating. Each night after work I put Hazelnut on a leash and pour myself a glass of wine and we go sit in the shared back yard, starting at the sunset.
And so life goes on, under construction. Sometimes the racket on my zoom calls is just as loud as it was at my desk in my bedroom on Riverside, with the high rises going up and all the neighbors packed into the community nearby. Sometimes it’s so rattling, and especially on days when I feel like I am not on my game and I am feeling vulnerable. I want to present this perfect put-together image to the world from my desk. I want those post-reveal HGTV vibes. But most of the time, it looks more like demo-day.
Here’s the thing I am realizing in this season. It’s a loud and needed lesson for me. We are often under construction. Sometimes of our own choice. Sometimes, it just starts up all around us. I know I have been for the last few years, on both fronts. I want to hide away, until the construction is done.
But we don’t have to run, or be embarrassed by it. We can choose to pull out a patio chair, pour ourselves a drink and welcome the construction.
We can take a deep breath. And embrace it.