To Hell and Back
My street has been under construction for the past six months. I'm not just talking flaggers and orange cones. I'm talking mountains of gravel, the entire road gutted, cranes and other various machines (and a port-a-potty) lining the street 24-7. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was a form of hell. Every morning became a race to get ready and out the door before the workers started up the cranes, tore up the road, and blocked me in. While the arrangement was for them to start at 7 AM (which is still much earlier than I would like to leave my house every morning), on many mornings they would begin closer to 6:30, and the thought of having to leave my house at that hour left me in tears of frustration more than once. One morning after getting out of the shower, I peeked out the window and saw that the machines were about to tare up the road directly in front of my driveway. Still dripping, I ran outside in my bathrobe and yelled at them to give me a few minutes to just get out of the house. Which is how I ended up blow drying my hair in the restroom at the Dunkin' Donuts down the street. Not my best morning. I tell you all this to illustrate just how monumental it was to arrive home last night to see that the construction has officially been completed. The machines are gone, the road is paved, the grave-shaped hole in my front yard has been filled. And best of all, I was late to work today! After six months of being ridiculously early simply because I had no other choice, I arrived at the office after 8:00.
In instances such as this (where you've been through a prolonged period of hellishness and are finally, blessedly on the other side), there are two different attitudes a person can adopt. The first is to think that in spite of the improved better state of things, the end result was not worth everything you had to go through to make it happen. I don't mention this lightly, because this can be a very big deal. It can involve words like regret, waste, fail, and mistake. And also the word dammit. I love my newly paved road, but honestly, it wasn't worth six months of less sleep, more stress, on and off driveway access, and all the street-lining trees being cut down. Sure, the road used to be uneven and a bit pot-holey, but I could have lived with that. And we could've kept the trees.
The other attitude is one of knowing that the hell you've been through was totally worth it; of feeling nothing but gratitude for having weathered the storm. Something I wholeheartedly put in this category is publishing my book. Because it was hard. And I didn't know what I was doing or even where to start. I was frequently overwhelmed by the number of decisions to be made, and while some were very minor, I worried more than I probably should have about what affect they each might have on the book. But I didn't know any better. I was in over my head and felt frustrated more times than I can count. Sort of surprising that the actual writing of the book would be the easiest part. But it's done now. It's been done for quite a while. And in this particular case, being on the other side feels totally worth it. I wrote a book! That people can buy! Whenever they want! It's a good feeling, that's all I'm saying. And it didn't involve cutting down any trees. (Er...well...you know what I mean.)