Happy Birthday to me! On February 4th, I turned 36. I passed on the cake and ice cream this year and instead spent my birthday week scraping off tarpaper and old tile from the floors down at the building. My father-in-law loaned me a giant wood-framing chisel, which helped with the job. (And also helped with my ego…there really is nothing like wielding heavy tools to make you feel like a bad-ass.)
So my dear, Reader. This process of refurbishment down at my future restaurant space has been….very trying. I’ve screamed. I’ve cursed. I’ve thrown down my crowbar in frustration. The place is in such rough shape upstairs. After a day’s work, I come home to bathe, and I turn the water black.
In the back of my mind, I can hear the voices of those who doubted me when I bought the space. They’re ringing loud and clear:
“Why didn’t you just buy a new space? Same cost, less work.”
Some days, I truly don’t know.
But most days, I do.
For me, bringing something back to life is meaningful, far more meaningful than buying something new. Be it with buildings, personal items, people, or ideas, there is something beautiful about the act of breathing new life. Why throw out something just because it lost its original luster?
As I embark on a new year, I would certainly hope that my family doesn’t throw me out, just because I’m not as shiny and new as I used to be. Likewise, I hope this building can feel itself coming back to life as I work to refurbish it. Call me a hippie, but I like helping things stay alive.
And with that, this hippie is hitting the hay. See you next Sunday. -Em