Adjusting to Shifts: Steering Through Life When Established Approaches Are No Longer Effective

“What obstructs the path often becomes the path itself.” ~Marcus Aurelius

I’ve experienced two strokes, and after each incident, there were skills I had to relearn. Walking felt different. My balance became an issue. Some days, my mind feels cloudy, making it hard to focus. My body doesn’t always follow what I intend to do.

Over the years, I’ve also faced numerous additional health challenges.

However, I’m sharing this not to elicit pity from anyone. That’s truly not my style. In fact, these health challenges have taught me to cherish the abilities I still possess. I just have to approach them in a different manner now.

Before all this, if I set out to accomplish something, I would keep at it until it was finished. Now, I may need to take breaks, realizing I must sit down for a bit. There are times I envision a project clearly and know what I want to achieve, but my body has its own agenda.

That can be frustrating. I won’t pretend it isn’t.

Numerous times, I’ve stared at tasks needing completion, thinking, “I should be able to tackle this.” Then I must remind myself that I may not be able to do it the way I once could. It simply means I might need more time.

I’m accustomed to finishing tasks. Accepting that sometimes it suffices to accomplish just one thing has been one of the more challenging lessons for me.

Renovating my house has felt a lot like that.

When we acquired it, the amount needing attention was overwhelming. Yet, I didn’t try to address everything simultaneously. I just found a starting point.

One task led to another.

The kitchen was updated. The flooring. The bathroom. The walls. The electrical work. The porch. The windows.

There always seems to be some additional task awaiting attention.

Honestly, I don’t think this house will ever be completely finished. And that’s perfectly fine.

Perhaps a home isn’t truly meant to be finished.

You inhabit it. You modify things. You repair things. You make errors. You change your perspective. Children grow up. People come and go. Items break. Life unfolds.

That’s what transforms it into a home.

It shouldn’t resemble a place where no one resides. It should reflect that people actually do.

There are aspects of this house that likely wouldn’t amaze anyone else. But they hold significance for me.

I recall what was present previously. I remember its appearance. I recall the tasks that felt unachievable when we began.

So every time I gaze at something we’ve modified, I don’t just see paint or fresh flooring.

I see the effort that went into it. I see the days I felt capable and the days I didn’t. I recognize the instances I became irritated and those when I figured something out.

And I think of the individuals who supported along the journey.

That’s the distinction between a home and a house.

A house is the structure. A home encompasses everything that transpired within it.

It’s not about possessing the most beautiful house. Mine isn’t particularly stunning.

It’s not about completing every task. I certainly haven’t finished everything.

It’s about taking what you have and striving to create something meaningful out of it.

My health shifted. My capabilities altered. My plans transformed. Yet I still yearned to create something. I still aspired to work on the house and do things for my family. So I persisted.

At times, that meant undertaking tasks myself. Other times, it involved finding alternative ways. Occasionally, it required acknowledging I needed assistance.

And sometimes it meant doing absolutely nothing due to physical limitations.

That last one is likely the most difficult for me.

But I’m improving gradually.

I suspect many individuals might experience something akin to this.

It might not be strokes or the same health challenges I’ve faced. It could be job loss. A divorce. The death of a loved one. Financial struggles. Aging. A home that’s unaffordable to repair. A dream that didn’t materialize.

Something occurs, and suddenly the life they envisioned is no longer the life they’re experiencing.

I’ve been in that position. And I don’t possess a remarkable secret for overcoming it. I simply kept identifying something to work on. Sometimes that was the house. Other times it was the yard. Occasionally it was something minor. And sometimes it was simply getting through the day.

For me, having something to anticipate holds significance.

It frequently revolves around a project.

I’ll observe an item and start contemplating how I can alter it. I’ll take measurements, figure out necessary materials, and visualize its potential appearance.

Even if I cannot initiate it immediately, I have a mental project to look forward to.

That matters.

I’ve also recognized that rebuilding isn’t always overt.

Some of the most substantial changes in my life might not seem significant to another person.

Being capable of doing something I couldn’t previously. Having a good day after a string of bad ones. Getting outside. Spending quality time with my family. Laughing over something trivial.

Those don’t sound like much. But they truly are.

When health issues interrupt your life, you begin noticing things you likely took for granted before.

You realize when you can enter a room effortlessly.

You notice when your mind feels sharp.

You recognize when you possess enough energy to accomplish something.

You appreciate the significance of everyday moments.

And I’ve learned to value ordinary days much more.

I still experience frustration. I still have moments where I look at all I wish to accomplish and understand there’s no chance I can finish it all.

However, I don’t want those days to define the narrative. They are part of it, but not the entirety.

The more significant narrative is that I’m still here.

I’m still working on the house. I’m still generating ideas. I’m still striving to improve things.

You don’t have to restore your life precisely as it was. Sometimes it’s impossible. You just need to discover what you can do with the life you hold now.

That’s my current path.

Some days I achieve much. Other days I accomplish little. Some days I feel like I’m genuinely making progress. Some days I survey the surroundings and see how much remains.

Yet I remind myself of how much the house has already evolved. And I remember my own journey as well. Both transformations have been occurring simultaneously.

The house has been evolving. And so have I.

I once believed creating a home was about renovating a house until everything appeared perfect. That perspective has shifted. Now, I believe making a home is about the continuous effort of showing up.

You prepare a meal. You repair something. You share moments with your family. You paint a wall. You tidy up the yard. You argue. You laugh. You create memories. You have highs and lows.

Eventually, all those small actions constitute your life. And that’s what I’ve been constructing. Not a flawless house. Not a flawless life. Just ours.

There remains plenty of work ahead. There are still changes I wish to implement. Numerous projects are pending my attention.

I will address them when possible. If it takes three days rather than one, then it will take three days.

I don’t need to validate anything by completing it the old way. I merely have to continue doing what I can.

Sometimes you can simply begin with whatever lies before you.

That’s how I approached this house.

And along this journey, I realized I wasn’t just crafting a home. I was developing a life I could inhabit. And I’m still in the process.