The 'before' matters more than the 'after'

Lesson #17 of 40

As I approach 40, I’m embarking on a year-long project to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned in four decades of life. This is lesson #17. You can read the full series here.

Before/After

A few weeks ago, with Billy and our daughter out of town, l enjoyed a rare weekend with the house all to myself. I had grand visions of catching up on sleep, hanging out with friends, and writing essays like this one. But one priority superseded all others: painting the steps leading to our back door.

We’d hired a neighbor to build those steps nearly a year earlier. While they were a significant improvement over the rickety ones we inherited with the house, they still needed a coat of paint. But between unpredictable weather, limited time, and lack of motivation, we kept putting the task off. I complained about the unpainted steps for months, wondering when we’d finally do it.

That weekend, the weather cooperated and I had the time and motivation I’d been lacking. A project I had fretted over for far too long was finally getting done.

In 2010, two years into marriage and at the tail-end of the subprime mortgage crisis, my husband Jamie and I bought our first home. We were 25 years old, aided by low home prices, a first-time homebuyer credit, and the absence of student loans. In other words, we were lucky. We bought a charming but run-down duplex and rented out the other half to help cover the mortgage. 

At the same time I became a homeowner, I also became a home blogger — or, at least, an aspiring one. While blogs like Young House Love chronicled ambitious renovations, I documented much smaller projects, simply because I enjoyed it. I blogged about DIY efforts like hanging curtains, rescuing thrift-store decor, and painting accent walls with the same care and enthusiasm as the successful creators I admired. For me, it was a pure hobby. I loved having a creative outlet — something I lacked in my corporate job — and making something tangible plus documenting that progress was a delight. I accomplished something! Here’s proof!

No matter what project I tackled, I always made sure to get the “before” shot: the patchy lawn before the flowers, the office nook before the shelves, the rusty decorative hooks before the shiny coat of spray paint. I took photos meticulously, making sure to replicate the same angles and lighting once the work was complete.

If there’s one rule of home renovation content, it’s that you always document the “before.” Without it, the “after” isn’t nearly as satisfying.

A funny thing happens when you take a “before” photo. What was once the way things are becomes the soon-to-be past — the way things were. The photo is a commitment to change: a shift from complaint to action. “Before” is an optimistic and hopeful partner, eager to welcome its comparative counterpart.

Two Sundays ago, on the first day of fall, a group of Sweet Dumb Brain subscribers gathered on Zoom to discuss the seasons of life we were experiencing and what seasons we hoped to usher in next. We talked about things like slowing down, embracing the unknown, and connecting with our bodies. 

For many of us, the work ahead seemed daunting.

“I know transformation is slow,” one attendee shared. “But it’s so easy to get impatient.”

I understand this frustration. I, too, typically assume that all change takes significant time and effort — that transformation only begins once the work starts. After our call, though, I considered that the first step happens as soon as we make up our minds to change something, whether it’s the jiggly doorknob that’s been bothering us for weeks or a neglected friendship that needs some love. Deciding to take action, to turn a current situation into a “before,” is a bit like alchemy. It’s the initial move toward getting where we want to go next.

Sometimes, deciding to make the change is the hardest part. The “work” of some transformations doesn’t feel like work at all. It can be challenging in a good way, fun in a surprising way. It can feel like an exhale after holding your breath for too long.

Those of us on that Zoom call were dabbling in that same alchemy. We named the things we wanted to change and imagined what that change would look like. We did it with love and compassion — not because we felt less-than, but because we knew we deserved more. We shared our innermost desires, acknowledging that we were ready to move toward something new.

And while I sincerely hope everyone in that group eventually reaches the version of themselves they envisioned, I know the destination isn’t the point. The faith we demonstrated that Sunday was worth celebrating on its own. It’s a lesson all those years of blogging taught me: the “before” matters more than the “after.”

There’s always more to be done.

Whenever I stay in hotels, I flip straight to HGTV — my comfort watch. Every show follows the same formula: the daunting before, the exciting demolition, the inevitable hiccup, and finally, the satisfying reveal. In a neat 60-minute block, the transformation from ugly “before” to beautiful “after” feels instantaneous.

But have you ever noticed how little time they spend on the final reveal? An hour-long episode might reserve just a few minutes for the unveiling.

This is partly smart programming — it keeps you watching to the very end. It also allows the producers and hosts to gloss over the imperfect details: the unfinished rooms, the uneven grout, the paint that needed one more coat. Even in a polished HGTV production, the work is never truly complete.

Our back stairs have now been painted, and I enjoyed doing it. The railing is a crisp white, while the treads are a deep reddish-brown — not exactly the color I expected, but a nice surprise. The paint job is imperfect, and there’s a section where the brown paint bled onto the white. I’ll fix it eventually. There’s always more to be done.

For now, I’m enjoying this version of an “after.” In a few weeks, those steps will carry guests in and out of our house during our daughter’s 4th birthday party. If I have time, I might paint our picnic table the same reddish-brown before the party. We’ll see what the elements allow.

I’m also considering how I’d like to feel as I welcome guests to our home: present and confident, happy and grateful. 

It’s a nice vision, especially because I haven’t been the best version of myself lately. Between my anxiety over Hurricane Helene, unspent energy after Atlanta was spared its wrath, worrying about friends in Florida and North Carolina who weren’t as lucky, and a sneaky grief wave on what would have been my and Jamie’s 16th wedding anniversary, I’ve been a bit of a mess. I’ve been irritable and impatient, lacking confidence and focus. I could feel myself slipping into elastic mood territory, convincing myself I’ve always been like this.

Writing this essay reminded me that I’m not stuck here.

I like to imagine that, as we’re celebrating our girl, I’ll feel less anxious than I do today. Less tired than I’ve felt this past week. Less bothered by the small annoyances that have nagged me. I don’t know if I’ll get to that exact vision, but putting it on paper gives me the push to identify some behaviors that can help me get there. I know what I want my “after” to look like, and I’ll head in that direction with compassion and love. I will look for joy along the way. And I’ll accept, just like all those HGTV shows taught me, that the work is never complete.

Click! Just like that, another “before.”

xoxo
KHG