Labyrinth

About 8 years ago, I had the unique opportunity to walk a labyrinth with other retreat participants. The retreat center just happened to have one and it was well done. It was almost identical to the one pictured above. I was befuddled when the retreat leader found it and was elated that we could walk it for our closing ceremony. I'd walked one alone some years back and I found it to be like going to the airport when there are no lines at the check-in desk. There are rows and rows of  rope to traverse before you even get to the person who will eventually tell you to, "Have a safe trip."  Crawling underneath a couple of those ropes is certainly more efficient, especially when you're in a hurry. It's useless to walk more steps than is necessary to get to the end goal. Based on that mentality, I found the labyrinth a big waste of my time. I can remember thinking, "What is the deal? I can't believe that this concept has been passed down for thousands of years."

I'm glad that there are people much smarter and wiser than I.

I hadn't thought about that labyrinth experience for such a long time. A couple of weeks ago I had the truly blessed chance to hang out with a friend who is in a very difficult life place right now. She is a woman of great courage whom I admire and love very much. There is an age gap between us. She was born while I was a college student. If my path had been different, it's possible that I could have a daughter her age. And yet, she has been a vital part of my life for the past two years. Without her work and diligence, my path today would be very different.

We bonded well from a professional standpoint. We chose to be friends. We both love books, we love to laugh, and we share common wounds and hurts from life's journey.

We hadn't seen each other in weeks and we had hours of catching up to do. While sitting side by side, both of us in socks and comfy clothes, we kept talking about such similar themes and patterns in our lives. The visual of walking the labyrinth with others kept popping into my mind. Here's my best memory of the event.

Our leader intentionally lined us up in birth order. The oldest woman went first. The youngest went last. My sister was just one woman ahead of me and another dear friend, years younger, was much farther down the line. None of us had any idea where the labyrinth ended, nor was the path visible when standing in front of it. We received no instructions other than to walk and follow the path.  (Oh, and remain silent. Always a challenge for this woman who has NEVER won the silent game.)

It seemed logical that as the participants made their way through the path, that it would get easier to see the end. Such was not the case. The more women that entered, the less obvious it was as to how far along the path they were. Even with Carol, my sister, ahead of me, I was so surprised as to how many times it felt like she was behind me. I was shocked at how often I saw her face, not just her back. Reluctant to admit how much Engineer is within my DNA and how competitive I am, I nevertheless, was looking for the end constantly. I finally discovered, because of others before me, that the end was actually in the center. Knowing this, I was taken aback when my much younger friend appeared to be at the finish line before me. How could this have happened?

I was convinced then (and now, in all honesty) that math would (will) be my final demise. I quickly concluded that this was a math puzzle. My young friend, Heather had figured out something I had not. And yet, within moments she was hidden from my sight line as I completed the labyrinth. At the time, the lesson of astonishment was that maybe a linear view of life was not realistic when measuring internal growth. Chronology may not be the best indicator of maturity. Maybe it's the experience of walking alongside someone? Seeing their back sometimes? Only to be surprised moments later that you're face to face in an unexpected turn in the road? Maybe the end isn't the most important part?

Here's what I've pieced together from this new image of the labyrinth memory that I know today. I have learned something new and different because of this friendship. She and I started out our journeys at vastly different times. We share some unhealthy life patterns. I've been practicing some better patterns for a tad longer. But at this juncture, we're working on the same issue. She may be discovering some things for the first time. I needed to revisit the familiar fury for remedial work.

What mattered most that weekend was that we were fellow travelers. My remedial work did not make me inferior to her. Nor did my few years of practicing make me superior. Walking together provides stability. Comfort. Hope. There's also an important place for humility. Shared humanity.

The goal of the labyrinth is learning. A maze has the intent to confuse and intentionally challenge. I prefer to look at life as a labyrinth. Sometimes I need to see my sister's face. Sometimes I need to see her back and know that if she walked that steep hill ahead, I can do it also. I know by experience, it is absolutely possible to crawl under obstacles at the airport and avoid what seems a trivial waste of time. I choose that example because there was that time a couple of years ago that I failed to take into account how low I'd have to dip my body AND my pink and green polka dotted suitcase. I was so happy that few were around to witness a huddled mass of pink, green, and flesh on the thinly carpeted area.

I'm that girl who rarely gets away with what seems like legitimate cheating.

And yet, by taking the path not intended I might miss something of value or make a giant fool of myself for my arrogance in knowing there must be a shortcut. I'm thankful that remedial work is always available. The sun rises every morning and I get a chance to make different choices.

There are times when we are surrounded by those who are closer to the end of the path. Pay attention and learn. It's very possible that the person whom we are looking at has revisited our issue several times and might have wisdom to offer for the current drama of our day. It is also quite likely that you may offer that person a treasure forgotten or one not collected on their journey.

I'm looking forward to time with an older friend this week. The age gap between us is exactly the gap between my daughter and me. I am blessed beyond measure with the wisdom of this friend. My ears and my heart are wide open.

Below Average and Above Average. Both are true.

On the Do-It -Yourselfer scale, I’d rate myself slightly below the average tool efficient male and about two standard deviations from a female contractor. Yes, I’ll willingly admit to a cultural gender bias. Perhaps also, if I’d discovered earlier in life my attention deficit issue, maybe I’d be less frustrated now--much less in the cumulative years of projects. Duct tape and glue guns are staples in my toolbox.

I go in cycles with my projects. Today I know why.

His furniture now gone, I have an empty room--ripe for wall paint and transformation. I can see the new dining room in my head, thanks in part to Pinterest. It’s gorgeous.

In my new room I want a sideboard. Because of the creativity of others (Pinterest), I realized I already had the perfect one in my garage. Our house, built in 1980, had the requisite wet bar in the living area. It was wasted space for us, so I had it ripped out and put out in the garage. It quickly became the storage place for the house overflow. Over the weekend, I spent hours unloading the accumulated stuff. That stuff is in the house. Again. In a non-permanent place. Arg. Some of the items will get stored in the pantry that will be built in the next few weeks. Other things will make the shift in the kitchen after it’s repainted. The rest of the stuff will be donated. I also took off the door robbed from the bar cabinet to cover a new opening made in the kitchen island. Now a have another dilemma. What do I use to cover that opening?

On Saturday night after I’d moved everything out of the sideboard, I got out my well worn electric sander. I may not be excellent at many things; but, I am an excellent sander. (Not sure who isn’t, but a girl’s got to feel competent, right?) I’m also excellent with scissors.

Sanding, by the way, is a therapeutic activity when you’re angry.

Years ago, I worked for an artist. She’d paint anything and make it spectacular. I base painted furniture for her. While I was waiting on coats to dry, I’d watch her paint. I learned enough that I could dabble at a few things and sell painted items at Giggles and Glamour craft shows. Susie taught me all the tricks to using her particular machine and was utterly gracious when my first items needed larger rosebuds or complete sanding for a redo. I worked at least 10-20 hours a week for her. That’s a lot of sanding and painting. I ended up buying a machine just like hers. It finally died a couple of years ago. I replaced it with a cordless painter. The first time I used it, I was awed with its performance. My inner paint snob wanted to take full credit for how skilled I was. Certainly, the machine was just partially responsible for the great end result. I held myself in high regard, until the second time I pulled out that blasted, new paint gun.

I ended up painting the project with a roller and a brush. Spilling the entire container of black paint on the uncovered part of the garage sealed the deal with brushes.

Fast forward to now. I want this sideboard to have the smooth, brushless finish that my black table and chairs had. Better equipped with self knowledge and how to make sure the paint bucket is firmly attached to the gun, I started early this morning with the goal of finishing the painting before bedtime. I didn’t even START painting until 12:20. So goes the world of power tools. It’s fact of Do-It-Yourself life that things break and projects take longer than you’d hoped. Part of the delay included time to email Ryobi to let them know how very disappointed I was with their lithium batteries and charger. Dad would have mailed the multiple copies of the letter to decision makers including the President, printed, and placed the a copy in his clearly labeled files. 

Battery dilemma solved I started painting. BLAST! It wasn't working well. School would be out in 30 minutes! The guy in the video didn't have blobs of paint flying out of his machine. When my language progresses to vulgarity, I require myself to stop. Even with a break for school pick up and some perspective, that wretched machine was still acting up! I quit for the day.

I was so disappointed with part one of the paint job. I, of course, had not tested the paint on a scrap of something or used both tips to see which I preferred. I wanted to finish. I also wanted something close to perfect. Hmmmmm……not good roommates, those two.

So, I’m sitting at volleyball practice realizing that there is far more chaos today than if I’d simply just left everything as is. I only love projects after they are successfully completed. I am impatient and careless and even when I’m trying my best, I can still manage to ruin something. My standards are often unattainable. 

But, I truly need to change things in this house to make it livable for myself. I want that room to reflect the change in my life. I get to choose about that stupid sideboard. I can slow down, do all the things I know I should do first, which may include wasting time and paint. Or I can be angry at some faceless man at Ryobi because both batteries were defective. I can snap at my daughter for expecting instant responses from me when I’ve got dripping paint on my supposed to be gorgeous sideboard! I can bark insults at people who can’t hear me, as I drive down the highway. I could probably find a legitimate reason to blame my ex for today’s frustrations.

However.

I’ll still have a poorly painted sideboard in the garage taking up the space that my car should occupy. I’ll still be the parent to a child I love more than I could ever have imagined loving. I can model rudeness and impatience to her as I yell at her for being impatient?! or while we drive to her practice. And truth be told, I could in one complicated thought actually find a reason to rationalize blaming my ex.  But then I'd be left with just an angry, frustrated me. And I'm left holding the bitterness and resentment. Rocks.

I'm chuckling right now because my mind immediately said to my heart, "ummmm, Lori you really have to thank him for helping you discover that you're actually good with power tools." Without intention, he helped me discover that I’m a competent, powerful woman who can assemble just about anything if given enough time.

Reassembling life at 46 10/12 isn’t easy. It’s chaotic. It’s getting even more chaotic as time progresses. The process requires losing what I didn't want to lose, getting rid of things I once loved, relocating some things that I know I need and am not sure where they’ll go quite yet. I’m tearing down walls and putting in new doors. I’m screwing up a lot. I spend many days wondering how I’m going to get from this place to the next. I’m tempted and often do sit around, scared to death. 

But.

I’m learning to be patient and gracious with myself. I’m still struggling with healthy outlets for anger and rage. I’m rediscovering that basic skills do matter and that there is great value in the daily, mundane tasks of living.

I also have a clear picture of the first dinner party I'll throw in my gorgeous dining room. Those guests will appreciate all the beauty of the night—beautiful surroundings, beautiful china, beautiful food, and most of all the beauty of sharing an evening knowing love was the motivation behind it all. 

In the meantime, I’ll find more things to sand, make up my bed each day, and know that even the people who will notice the flaws in my paintjob will laugh when I retell the story of how it happened and when I noticed that all the hairs in my nose were Sherwin Williams Extra White.

PS. I've already figured out what to do with the hole in my cabinetry. It will match the two barn doors that will be built to cover the new pantry and the old laundry room. Phase IV?