I recently refinished my kitchen. Its all DIY — with spray paint and contact paper and stick up tiles. Honestly, it looks pretty good. My crisp white cabinets and faux subway tiles contrast nicely with my shiny black stove and the black marble (contact paper) counter tops.
The vibe it gives off is a little different than the warm and eclectic nature of the rest of the house — its clean, solid, controlled. It’s black and white. I love it. I love how simple and yet elegant it is. It is exactly how I want my life to be.
Yet, the longer that I sit here on the couch, staring into the kitchen, the more imperfections I see (Oh the joys of a studio apartment where every room is the only room. My “kitchen” is the north wall, my “living room” the south.)
I can see, for example, that small spot on the stick up tiles where a seam didn’t quite line up, a little crease that is hard to spot unless you know where to look — and I do. I see the badly patched in piece as well with it’s mismatched grout lines that tries unsuccessfully to hide in a corner.
Furthermore, there are embarrassingly crooked caulk lines, some smudges of black caulk that stained the white of a cabinet door, and more seams in the contact paper that lines in a quilt. Not to mention the tiny fleabites in the stove’s spray paint job. The longer I look at it the more I hate it. I hate how shoddy and unprofessional it is. It is just like my life feels at the moment.
I wish that all of life were so black and white — so clean cut and straightforward. But the longer I’m in this thing, the more it feels like nothing is straight, nothing is clean, there are unexpected bumps and hidden imperfections everywhere I look.
Certainly there are still some things I can fix in my kitchen. I can touch up the dingy paint and smooth out the caulk lines. But some of the problems are never going away.
So I have a choice. I can sit in my living room and stare at them and hate them more with every second that passes, or I can embrace them, acknowledge that I am likely the only one who sees them or cares, and move on. I can use my kitchen for it’s created purpose — to cook, to be the soul of the house.
My life is very similar. I can focus on the flaws, the messes and the imperfections, letting them tear me away from everyone and everything, or I can work on what can be worked on, accept what cannot be changed, and focus on my created purpose — to live and work in relationship to others.
