In the meantime, the rest of our living space is under construction. I love envisioning what the space will become someday, but for now I find myself frustrated by the feeling of projects everywhere and a sense of cozy home nowhere. In the moments when I feel like I can't take it anymore, I turn to my children. You see, my children are my Zen masters. They teach me how to live: how to be present, how to accept what is, how to let go.
In one particular moment of frustration as we were ripping up carpet and subfloor and our "home" was slowly disappearing before my eyes, I watched as my two girls ran in circles around a dresser in the middle of our family room. They ran and laughed and saw the bulging, half-removed carpet as a new obstacle to navigate. They have no attachments, no ideas of what a home "should" look like. For them, home is where their people are. Walls are coming down, carpets lifted, but that is all just cosmetic. The heart of our home, our rhythms (however unrhythmic) and ourselves remain. My children take all of the changes in stride and I am looking to them, learning from them to do the same. So as I look around to find a cozy spot to sit and well, there is none to be found, I head to my almost-finished bedroom and I look through photos of our past projects to remind myself that this too is temporary. We have done this before, we have lived under construction and we have come out better in the end for it. Cosmetically, yes things are better, but our sense of who we are and what truly matters, our sense of home, is deepened.