The Art of Restoring Beauty in the Midst of Transition
I grew up with a powerful fascination with “old stuff”. One grandma used to let me rummage through her jewelry box of outdated or too-small pieces. I’d dress up in heels she hadn’t worn in decades and parade around the house. We collected old money together, too. I remember we had a quarter for every year back to 1806, and we kept them in a trunk in the back of her closet with more two-dollar bills than you can imagine.
My other grandma is a crafter, and she and I love to refinish furniture. There’s something beautiful about taking something worn down and bringing it back to life, sometimes even better than it was the first time. Most recently, we’ve found a set of rocking chairs, probably dating back to the `30s or `40s, and she’s made me swear to keep them until I have a little girl and can fill them with stuffed bunnies and bears to decorate her bedroom. (Little does she know… my future daughter would have to pry them from my cold, dead hands because now those creaky little rocking chairs remind me of my Mema…sorry kid.) To some people, these pieces have surpassed their time. To me, they haven’t seen enough. These eclectic pieces have stories and allow us to make them too. From the crystal stemware that sits throughout my table when I have my girlfriends over for cocktails to the scratched records that sound throughout my house, singing a song much louder than any of Elvis’ early hits, memories are being made.
To some people, these pieces have surpassed their time. To me, they haven’t seen enough. These eclectic pieces have stories and allow us to make them too. From the crystal stemware that sits throughout my table when I have my girlfriends over for cocktails to the scratched records that sound throughout my house, singing a song much louder than any of Elvis’ early hits, memories are being made.
In a lot of ways, this “hobby” is the same as my job. All too often, prospective clients are seeking a consultation during their darkest day. They’re worn down, defeated, and unappreciated. They’re in the midst of the biggest transition of their life, separating from their spouse, in fear of losing time with their children, unsure if their heart will ever feel whole again. Today, a client cried, having not heard from his kids in months after nearly a year of continuously diminished trust between him and his spouse destroyed their love for one another. I can’t imagine that he felt like he was any different from an old rocking chair: whiney, tattered, and praying that no one uses him again, as he isn’t sure he can hold it together much longer. We sat in silence for a portion of time: him appreciative that someone listened to him, me appreciative that he allows me to lead him through tragedy.
This job is a privilege, and while days can be hard and it's easy to get caught up in the insurmountable deadlines and cumulous arguments, I remember that it took strength for a client to come to me, and I owe them strength in return. On days that they feel old and undeserving of love and happiness, I have the privilege of showing them that sometimes, the best memories are made after heartbreak.
