The Project Manager

article by Meredith McKinnie

Last summer, Husband and I remodeled much of the home we’ve owned since 2015. I completed a three-year study period for my comprehensive exams in February and enjoyed a brief reprieve before embarking on writing a dissertation. I longed to fill my days with anything nonacademic. It all started with a quick search for home organization remedies. I perused Amazon for storage ideas and downloaded Tiktok for inspiration. I can’t enjoy a space that is not clean and orderly – I literally start to fidget. As the packages arrived, little bins started populating previous junk drawers and the inevitable spring closet cleanout ensued. Husband moans when I begin statements with, “So, I’ve been thinking…” but he always appreciates the product of our labors. I discovered a list, twelve scrolls into the Notes section of my phone, detailing the home improvements I envisioned upon its purchase.

And so, the marathon began. Chipped trim received a fresh coat of bright white paint, doorknobs transformed from dull bronze to dynamic black, wood flooring replaced the dreadful carpet in three rooms. My house resembled the department stores I haven’t shopped at in years – clean, orderly, everything in its place. I began to think bigger and couldn’t escape dissatisfaction with our outdated cabinets throughout the house. I scrolled home improvement websites, reengaged Pinterest beyond recipe storage, and became convinced that our cabinets could be like-new for little out-of-pocket expense. While Husband needs a push, he enjoys the art of creating, particularly wood work. He likes seeing projects through to completion, calling his father for advice and sharing updates. He appreciates frequent gratification for his efforts, and I enjoy a finished product. Playfully, his father dubbed me “The Project Manager.”

We often hear about the glorification of busyness. I wouldn’t quite describe my obsession with productivity that way. I do enjoy rest and relaxation, but my work ethic precludes my need for self care. Even though I know it’s ludicrous, rest -or rest’s sake feels lazy. My mind insists I must earn rest. In childhood, I remember jumping up off the couch if my dad entered the room. We would pretend to mimic a chore until the observer left the room. I could only fully relax if no one was watching. As an adult, I enter the house and immediately get to work. The dish rack must be emptied, the trash taken out, the kitchen and rooms in order before I start making dinner. I need a space clean before I wreck it. Even as I dirty measuring cups and spoons, I race to clean them in between the addition of ingredients. It’s like a game of sorts. How much can I do before the doing time is over?

Husband, on the other hand, relaxes through life. He works hard, but he doesn’t make work harder by rushing through it. Relationships are funny in that we are attracted to opposites, but the longer we’re together, we merge lives and become more alike. But the essence of an individual stays the same. As that couple likeness evolves, those individual differences beam brighter. When I returned to the office to study and Husband was home continuing cabinet renovations, I would check in for updates on his progress. He would say things like, “I’m waiting on the wood putty to dry.” I would ask why he didn’t run to Home Depot for the sandpaper he needed the next day while he waited. It never occurred to him to hurry, to seek the final product at rapid speed. He’s the quintessential epitome of “Tomorrow is another day.” It’s infuriating, but often a welcome contrast.

I stress the small stuff. I obsess over self-imposed deadlines that matter to no one but me. A failure to meet those deadlines feels like a failure of self. I’m working on this. I know my attention to detail and time management make me a good teacher, a good administrator, and an organized parent. It also makes me miss the roses and the deep breaths and the satisfaction of a small task well done. Looking forward serves its purpose but being present allows the magic of a moment to manifest. If I rush through life, I might miss it. While my pace hasn’t slowed significantly, I’m trying to hit the pause button with intention.