Something Always Comes Up

You know that thing you keep saying you’ll get to?

That one corner of the house you’ve walked past a hundred times thinking, “I’ll start it when I have enough time.”
The bag of returns sitting by the door.
The picture frames leaning against the wall waiting to be hung.
The pantry shelf that drives you crazy every time you open it.
The birthday card you bought but never mailed.
The curtain rod that’s still in the package…from last spring.

For me, it was a blank wall in my kitchen. And not just blank for a few months—five years.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it. I could picture it in my head.
But I kept waiting for the right time.
A whole afternoon, a quiet weekend, the magical moment when I was caught up on everything else. (Ha!)

But here’s the thing: something always comes up.
A new task. A phone call. A distraction. A sense that something else is more pressing.
And before you know it, that “one day” project becomes a five-year mental weight you carry every time you walk past it.

I’m a planner by nature. A list maker. I like things mapped out.
But sometimes all that planning just becomes a stall tactic.
By the time I write out the plan, I’ve convinced myself it’s too late in the day or that I really should do ten other things first.

(The hamster wheel in my head? It’s a real thing.)

But two weeks ago, I just… started. I didn’t have a full day.
I didn’t have it all mapped out.
I picked up the first piece and got to work.

And now? I’m in love.
That wall I let sit untouched for five years is finally done.
It didn’t turn out exactly how I pictured it all that time—it turned out better.

And what’s on that wall now? Things that truly matter to me.

There’s a handwritten recipe from my mother for her amazing rhubarb jelly—the one my kids still fight over to this day.
There’s a treasured recipe from my mother-in-law, who taught me how to make her famous fried macaroni.
There are photos of our grandkids cooking, baking, and of course, tasting along the way.

These are the feelings I wanted to relive over and over again—
the warmth of knowing the memories we’ve made and the ones we’ll keep making right here, in the heart of our home.

Because the kitchen has always been that for us.
It’s the first place everyone gathers.
It’s where we laugh, catch up, and share the kind of conversations you don’t plan—
the kind that just happens while someone’s stirring a pot or reaching for the cinnamon.
It’s where I raised my children, where our extended family has always felt welcome,
and now, where our grandchildren are beginning their own traditions.

There are nights I walk into the kitchen, flip on the light—not because I need anything, but because I want to stand there in that stillness.
And smile.

And here’s what I know now: something is always going to come up.
There will always be errands, dishes, appointments, and distractions.
But when you finally start—when you give something the time and care it’s been quietly waiting for, you make room for meaning.

That wall… it was worth the wait.
But even more than that, it was worth starting.