My parents are in town. Besides sightseeing and shopping with my mother it also means a project with my father. The latter usually involves building something – shelves, the fence in my front yard. This year we are going to pave a path to the shed in my garden. DIY store visit. Yay!!!
I like DIY stores. The shelves with tools and materials stimulate my creativity. My hands get itchy. I can easily find my way between tubes of putty, buckets of varnish and paint, garden tools and bags of cement and sand. I know names of all this stuff in Dutch and never feel intimidated if I have to ask shop personnel for advice or extra information. I feel comfortable in a DIY store. At least I always did.
At the second DIY store today my excitement suddenly turned into oppressive panic. Why do I feel so comfortable here? Did my parents and I made some wrong decisions along the way? Wrong profession? Should I be a carpenter? Should I plaster and construct rather than analyse processes, give business advice and write articles? Was I moving in the totally wrong direction for thirty six years? The thought made me nauseous. And cranky. I think I took some of that out on my mother. Sorry, Mom!
I was feeling down for a couple of hours. Then I realised that if I were an unconscious handyman, my house would be in perfect state. I looked around. Cracked paint around the windows outside, laminate flooring uneven and with gaps, missing door handles, a couple of walls needing a total makeover and the list goes on. The wave of joy covered me swiping the annoying cranky feeling and ruining it completely in one swift movement. Thank God! I’m probably better off working with my head. Never thought household problems could make me happy.