As my fiancee and I were in the process of painting our kitchen together I began to think about my thoughts on painting. I hate painting. Or rather, I dislike the concept of painting. Creating a change in my life is uncomfortable. Change that just happens to me I can handle, like getting sick or being asked to do something new at work or something bad happens to me that I have no control over. That, I can handle. I can adapt. I can usually figure out how to live in this new situation comfortably.
But change that I create. Change that I start, is scary. Usually I know it will be good for me but to actually pull the trigger and start the process of changing is quite possibly one of the scariest things that I have had to do.
My heart races while looking at the swatch of color that is going to be my new life. Not knowing if it will look right on the wall or if it will be too much for me to handle. Not knowing if others will find it appealing or if it won’t be enough of a change to make me happy. The only thing I know is that I need this change. That I need something different in my life to make me a better person.
So I pick the color, prep the wall and begin the painting process. Beginning to cover the old with the new and as I move through the room it gets easier and easier to imagine my life with this new color in it. It gets easier to imagine living in this new reality. It begins to become part of me.
Later as the paint dries and I walk into the room it doesn’t take me aback. It looks like home. It looks like me and I am glad that I decided to make a change. I’m glad that I painted.
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