Workshop Moment

I've been avoiding my garage workshop for ages. For too long, each time I have pulled my car in, I have glanced over at the increasingly unkempt space to my left, and promised myself, "Soon."

A couple of weeks ago, I decided it was high time to change "Soon" into "Now".

When I built my closet shelving several years ago, there were some doors and drawers in the design. However, once the basic boxes were built and the space was usable, the finishing touches fell into the dreaded 'later' category on my to-do list. 

This year, I have been trying to work on that part of my list. I want to either work on the things or take them off the list. For me, when the list is static, it becomes a visual symbol of all the things in life I wanted to do but will now never accomplish. I don't need that sort of symbol in my life. It was time to either tackle those doors, or to decide I want to live with the closet the way it is.

The project has been quite the exercise in patience, letting go of ideas of perfection, and self-forgiveness. Turns out, if you lay a skill down for a decade or so, it's a bit rusty and needs some tuning up when you pick it back up. I probably knew that.

Slowly, but surely, the work has been progressing. I'm almost done gluing the doors together, the next step will be to disguise all the mistakes I've made. Thanks to my self-taught, google-boosted training, I've learned lots of ways to both make and cover up errors, and I'll be putting that knowledge to good use. (Thank goodness the doors will be painted - a good coat of paint covers a multitude of sins...)

To my not-at-all surprise, I've been uncovering a lot of uncomfortable emotions as I worked. (I KNEW there was a good reason I'd been avoiding the garage.) For a long time, I didn't work on stuff because Joe was using a lot of the space for storage. (That part didn't bither me a bot.) 

But then, last year, we cleaned his stuff out and moved Bob's stuff in, so Bob would have a workshop available after he moved to the city. He was able to get out here just three times before getting locked down first in one memory care unit and then the other. 

*sigh* My heart.

But my leaving the space untouched as some sort of dusty memorial isn't helping either of us. Getting out there, making mistakes, and moving on is helping me on more than a get-a-project-done level. 

I've been listening to my grief. I grieve because I deeply care and goodbyes are hard and long goodbyes are hard for a long time. And somehow, in the work, both in the parts I've done well, and in the imperfections, I've found glimpses of acceptance and healing. 

Stop. Breathe. (I'm not quite able to Relax, but I'm working on it.)

It's good advice.