We have made some changes to our reno plan. An abridged version of our (sleep-deprived) conversation went something like this:

Me: OMG I am starting to resent this property.

Dave: These weekend renos are stressing me out. There is only so much time to get stuff done, and we aren’t 20 anymore.

Me: Or 30 or 40 or 50….

Dave: And Rumi has proven to be really inept with power tools. He refuses to wear protective gear.

Me: I can’t get anything done with his intermittent love humps.

Dave: I know. He can be annoying but he is pretty cute.

Me: And he sleeps well in the trailer, loves the odiferous outhouse and his off-leash time on the property.

Dave: He’s pretty good at recognizing the constellations now and spotting satellites.

Me: He sure seems to enjoy the property more than we do…

Like I warned, it was a sleep-deprived conversation.

Fatigue aside, it never ceases to amaze me how energy follows energy in our thoughts and words. Negative comment begets negative comment until someone (Dave in this case), sneaks in a little positive note. That is all it takes to break the feedback loop to glimpse blue sky through gray clouds.

We need to rethink this project. We are becoming resentful and negative about our lack of progress vs the vision in our heads. Once again thwarted by unrealistic expectations that create nothing but pain.

So, we are changing direction. And all that was required was a little shift in perspective. No big changes like ditching the whole thing (as I had proposed out of desperation) but simply taking it easy. Keeping it simple.

Keep It Simple, Superstar

I don’t know if anyone else suffers from this, but Dave and I often fail to keep a plan simple. This property was supposed to be a little haven in the woods. It is turning out to be a hellhole of stress. The irony is not lost on either of us. That is the problem with renovations: it is easy to fall prey to, “while we are at it, we might as well…”

Rumi, plagued but none of our human hang-ups, is a handy litmus test for me. Take dog toys for example.

You can spend a fortune on dog toys, chew toys, games, etc. Most sit discarded in the house. Rumi’s absolute favorites?

• empty water bottle in a dirty old sock. The closer it smells to gangrene the better
• chasing bubbles from cheap bubble wands from the dollar store
• treats and kibble hidden under dollar store funnel set (hole at top means he can smell the treat which is a great incentive)
• sticks from backyard
• mulch
• his tail
• expensive dog bed? Nope. Cool tile floor close to stinky shoes
• chasing ants on back patio

The difference between a dog’s approach to life versus our own? Keep it simple, superstar.

We are now trying to use this strategy with the cabin, and cut ourselves a little slack. At times it is difficult as past conditioning of what productivity looks like does not involve sitting around the campfire roasting s’mores. Why, as an adult, is relaxing so difficult? Will practice make perfect?

We have decided on the following changes:

• no more crazy deadlines of when projects need to be completed
• certain weekends set aside for enjoyment only – this is a tough one. We almost have to put it in writing before leaving for the cabin.
• enjoying the property just as it is
• reminding ourselves why we embarked on this project in the first place
• remembering that this is a 500 sq. foot cabin in the woods, NOT a year-round comfort palace
• at any point, if this project is harming our physical or mental wellbeing, we let it go.

The last one was the toughest. Dave spit out his beer when I brought up this point. But a strange sort of freedom settled around us. I think this will help to keep our expectations in check: nothing is worth pursuing if it harms body or mind in the process. Especially in your 50s. Working hard is one thing, but working hard and banging your head against the wall is something entirely different. The notion of seeing something through just for the sake of completion is ridiculous. What the heck are we trying to prove anyway?

Discovering contentment in what is, as opposed to what can be, is our aim right now.

Our fur ball has managed to teach us another lesson or two. He may look like an rumpled, unmade bed but there is wisdom in those eyebrow-hidden eyes. Frankly, we are too tired to argue with him. Simple sounds good. So does a nap. And a s’more or two tonight.

The Good Karma Cabin Lesson #13: Every plan may warrant a pivot. Give yourself permission to deviate. No path is a straight line.