This past week I have been ripping out the floor in my room, and there has been no shortage of stuff that I would rather be doing. Everything about it is dreadful. Every layer that I pull up is harder and messier to deal with than the last. Each time I think I have made progress I look back and see that I have only created more work for myself. It just does not seem like it will ever end.
The first layer is an ungodly vinyl tile that was in place before we moved in. We put carpet on top of it, but I took that out a few years ago. In theory this vinyl should peel up in a uniform fashion. Instead, it fractures into nondescript patterns and sometimes divides itself into layers that were previously unbeknownst to me. It is also rather hard to handle when I do pull up large sheets. Since it has remained flat for years it does not take kindly to bending.
Under the vinyl is a flaky plywood. Like the vinyl, you would assume that it would come up in sheets. That could not be further from the truth. Often, half of it stays adhered to the vinyl above while the underbelly crumbles. When that does not happen the plywood prefers to break itself up into small, dusty chunks that become almost impossible to clean off of the subfloor below. Then it becomes a hassle to clean all of that up.
And I do not want to even think about that subfloor. I am honestly unsure if it has been seen since the '50s and it has no intention of coming up. Like the vinyl and plywood, it should come up in sheets, but instead it splinters, leaving me with more and more to try and pry up. I have spent endless hours cursing this floor and how hard it has been to remove.
Then I think about how lucky I am to even have this floor that needs to be worked on. Around the world there are billions of people sleeping on dirt. Around the world there are entire families that live in places smaller than my bedroom. I think about how ungrateful I must be to somewhat resent having to toil amongst the wreckage that I walked upon for so many years.
It is something that is completely sobering to me, and even more so when I consider why I am working on the floor. My momma recently had a heart transplant. With that comes a lot of restrictions on the environments she can live in. Under the floor I have uncovered a rotting joist that was caused by the leaking roof above. The numerous repairs I need to do on the house are so she can live here without fear of an infection that could lead to her body rejecting her heart.
Yet I stand and work and complain about helping the woman that has given more to me than I can ever hope to describe. I complain about helping the woman that means more to me than she can ever know. I am ungrateful. I am complaining about working on a floor that I am lucky to have to help my mom.
That is absolutely ridiculous.
It also highlights something that I have seen is wrong with the American people – our focus on ourselves instead of others. We spend so much time worrying about our own individual plights and building them up into something more than they are that we neglect those around us. That includes people next to you and thousands of miles away. Just by living in this nation we are blessed with opportunities and privileges that many can only dream about, and we take that for granted. By focusing on our troubles, we take for granted our blessing. We highlight the burdens.
I for one am going to try to stop doing this. I am going to start being grateful for everything in my life, no matter how bad it may seem at the time, and I encourage you to do the same.
