There’s a happiness principle: “Enjoy the process.” Also, “Success is not the destination but the journey.” We’ve all heard these ideas, and they do make sense. If all you care about is the end result, then you miss out on a lot of potential enjoyment. I’ve started reminding myself of these ideas when I’m in the throes of some event or the other. Pay attention, Debi! The event itself, whether a meal or a party, will last only a couple of hours, but the preparation will be much longer. Don’t let haste and worry destroy that process. But here’s the thing: If you’re going through the process of building or making a big project, sometimes it’s easy to get so caught up in doing the work that you forget that hey, you’re going to be living with the end result for a long, long time. I often see this scenario playing out on the PBS series This Old House. You can view full episodes of the all the seasons on their website, but here’s the link to the final segment on their latest project, the Belmont Victorian. (Be aware that you’ll have to get through some ads in order to watch it.) The level of insanity was pretty high on this one. Of course, no one’s interested in watching a show that does something modest and reasonable; no drama in that! But I was more convinced than ever in watching this particular makeover that we are often the victims of our own wishful thinking. So, for instance, the most out-of-control item was the treehouse. I think this structure was the mom’s idea. It ended up being a big wooden deck fitted around the trunk of a huge tree in the back yard (leaving room for the tree to grow), with a custom-built ladder and railing, lighting, netting, and a system made from piping with holes for water, the idea for this last item being that on a hot day the kids can turn on the faucet and run around in the spray. Well, maybe so. The kids did seem pretty excited when they were allowed to go up into it. I just thought, ‘Hmmm. I wonder if they’ll ever really use it all that much.’ A sillier idea is the “seated boulder garden” in a corner of the yard, where, as the landscape designer says, “Your kids can sit and read a book.” On a boulder? I don’t think so! Wonder how much it cost to bring those huge things in with a bobcat.
I could go on and on. The “informal” space, where everyone can hang out, next to the “formal” space, where the kids aren’t allowed to jump on the couch. The unbelievable master suite with its 100-year-old bathtub and huge shower, custom-painted walls, walk-in closet the size of a small retail store, and the sitting area where, as the nice husband says, “We can sit and watch the seasons.” Huh? Will that ever really happen? And the gorgeous kitchen with its marble counters that are easy to chip and scratch, so they’ll have to be careful with them. Double huh!? (And wooden floors, one of my absolute pet peeves in kitchen design. I don’t care how well they’re sealed; they’re still wood. They’ll still get filthy and need to be scrubbed if they’re anything like mine. Water will spill on them. They’ll warp. Makes me grateful for my not-very-attractive-but-very-scrubbable tile floor.)
So the designers and the contractors and the TV crew will all depart, leaving behind this incredibly beautiful, lavish, and impractical house which will probably never be used in the way the family envisioned. Sorry to say, but it’s true. I can’t help quoting a line from that novel you need to read if you haven’t yet, Gaudy Night: “the refusal of human beings to stay where they are put.” We can set up the most idealistic of environments, we can dream up scenes of family harmony and romantic getaways, but in reality we’re still the same people we were before the renovations started. The glamorous formal living room won’t be so glamorous and formal with laundry piled on the not-to-be-jumped-on couch. Far better to be realistic and go with what really works for us rather than what we wish would work, a principle with implications far beyond a house renovation. How many times have you or I said, “Oh, I’ll do things differently when X happens.” But we don’t make any real provision for doing those different things.
Well, I’ve gone on long enough. Here I sit in my own beautiful kitchen, at the kitchen table that we bought from a consignment store, with my granite countertops that came with the house and which I don’t care for all that much but which are tough as nails, and I’m grateful for it. The floor has a couple of cracks and the color isn’t right with the counters, but replacing it would involve, literally, a jackhammer. We’d have to take out the beautiful baseboards and chisel out the tile, which I’m assuming is sitting on a mortared bed, in order to put in something that matches better. It just wouldn’t be worth it. Much of life’s happiness comes from deciding what you don’t need to do!