14 Jan

I watched a video of a young woman renovating an old camper van. The interior was in a dire state, with a tonne of work needing to be done before it would be suitable for her long road trip. She begin by stripping the entire van of all the old, worn-out, infested furnishings. Mould was scrubbed off the roof. Paint was reapplied. New wood panelling went up on the walls. A new cooker and sink.

Eventually, the van looked better than ever.

She was so proud of what she’d accomplished.

When we observe other people’s lives, it’s usually these end results we see. The finished product. The feelings of joy and accomplishment than come with it.

What we usually don’t see are the moments where it feels like everything is falling apart. Before rebuilding the van, it had to be ripped to pieces. Stripped of any vaguely redeeming qualities. Days spent tirelessly pulling out nails. Sanding down paint. Throwing out cabinets.

Turning something bad into something even worse.

After a week of hard manual labour, the girl was feeling lost in a world where all her efforts had left her with a van that was even less functional than when she’d started.

Sometimes progress look backwards.

To get somewhere new you’re often forced to take what looks - from the outside - like a step in the wrong direction.

It reminded me of my first home in London.

I fell in love with a little ground floor Victorian flat with a small bay window and fireplace in the front room. Only, the property had damp issues. It would need some major renovation works before I moved in that involved removing the floors.

Having spent most of my money on the flat, I was hoping to save on the renovation by reinstalling the same flooring after the work was done. But, when I came to visit the flat during the middle of the project, the builders had completely destroyed the flooring and left it discarded in a huge pile of broken shards in the bathroom. The house was a mess. No longer the dream home I’d falling in love with at the viewing.

I went back to my parents home and cried on the stairs.

Later, I decided to install the new floors myself rather than pay $1000 to a professional. I took a week off work, bought myself a large saw, and got down to business. A few days later, it was done.

For years after that, I would walk down the hallway of my home and think “I built this”. It was one of the proudest parts of my life. But, to get there involved totally destroying the thing I’d fallen in love with. I completely understood how that girl felt.

Sometimes progress looks backwards.