By Dana Stovern
March 18, 2022
Selah, Washington
When you make a commitment to launch into the journey of dramatically changing your life, you’re saying to the Universe, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m willing to live through, to the best of my ability, whatever curveballs get thrown at me.” This has definitely been the case since my dramatic life changes that began in September 2022. And the Universe definitely has a sense of humor about it, even if I can’t quite see the funny-haha moments about it when it’s happening.
Even though I’m living in a bit of insanity, or the hell of my mess, or the miracle of my life changes, depending on what kind of morning I wake up to, the irony of my surrounding environment is not lost on me.
Halfway through this week, as I tried to focus in my office on rebuilding and relaunching my business, I was abruptly interrupted by loud metal-to-earth scrapings and “KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KUNKS!” and diesel engines throttling at the back of my townhome unit.
When I went to my bedroom on the second floor and pulled back the blind to see what was going on, I was directly met with the large metal bucket at eye level from the backhoe that was now there. It was paired with a dump truck, and four construction workers were talking in animated styles about the project they were working on, which was all about building the retaining wall at the back of this property.
I knew this was coming because only ten days ago, the surveyors had come through with their tripods and calm air, putting their stakes into the raw earth with precise notations on the concrete and the wooden poles. They left the scene with a few tell-tale neon strip tapes flying from those stakes like flags blowing in the breeze, saying, “We’ll be back. But next time with heavy equipment.”
And here it was, in real life. I experienced the loud sounds and the full view, only yards from my window, of the excavations, the heavy machinery, the levelings, animated arguing, and larger-than-life retaining wall cement blocks.
If you were standing next to me, all you’d hear would be my air-sucking-oxygen and a resounding, “Jesus!” as I dropped the window blind.