May 13, 2026

It looked like an image out of a mid-century storybook. The neighborhood was all abuzz. On a bright sunny day in mid-May, the scene was idyllic with a side of chaos. The sound of children in the warm air, dogs out and about with their humans, bikes and scooters shuffling people to their next destination.

And then came the scene I least expected. As I paced, contemplating the theme of today’s blog, I watched two construction workers walk in step with one another, hauling stacked beams on their shoulders. One stood, walking five feet ahead of the other, perfectly aligned, staring straight ahead, as though they were soldiers or pallbearers solemnly trekking to the site of interest. It was clear a project was afoot, and they were some of the guys called to do this work. I had never seen anything like this on the road in front of my home. It literally looked like someone tore a page out of a storybook, and pasted it on the street in front of my home. Project or not, it was a sight to see, and definitely made me do a double-take.

As I sat outside, the birds still chirping loudly as though it were late morning, it became clear that life is very much like a construction zone. There is so much to do that requires the collaboration and support of others, and with just the right tools and resources, much can be accomplished. You can go from a rough blueprint to a completely renovated building in no time at all (unless you live in my area, where repairing a home takes a year and a half!)

I recall when my children were much younger that I was of the mindset they were like pint-sized projects and I was their one and only worker assigned to their case. I sincerely believed it was my mission to not just mold and shape them according to my likeness, but to ensure, at all costs, that they became adults and citizens of the world that were kind, respectable, and empathetic. Of course, these are not “bad” aspirations in the least. But the way in which I viewed their lives as projects to be managed was damaging to their spirits, and would eventually backfire. Ultimately, it drove some of them away from the home, forcing them to go through a phase in which the space between us was necessary for their well-being, and in some cases, their survival. I found myself in a similar situation in my mid-20s, when I had to make a life-altering decision to move out of my mother’s home, and into an area that was unfamiliar yet exciting, full of promise and hope I would not find anywhere else.

I have indeed been on both sides of this issue. I absolutely know what it is like to be a project manager, thinking other people were broken, and if they would just do what I said, then everything would be just fine. But I also know what it’s like to be someone else’s project. The intellectual poking and prodding of my life by others, perhaps with positive intent, has left me sore with wounds of pity, not admiration. Where I thought I held talent, expertise and wisdom, others saw me as someone who still lacked qualities associated with those of the highest moral caliber. Some in my life found it suitable to only engage with me for the purpose of fixing me where I was deemed broken. It broke my heart to understand I was not always considered a human being, an adult free to be autonomous and make life choices without others’ input, but that I existed merely to be a vessel into which others funneled their innermost desires and deep-seated insecurities.

It is exceedingly difficult to hold my tongue and watch others rise and fall, merely standing at a distance, refusing to engage with the scenario at hand. However, I’ve learned that personal progress and self-actualization do not occur when others interfere with “good intentions,” but when each one of us is able, willing and free to live their lives according to their own wishes. It can be quite unsettling to acknowledge what you may have thought was an equal relationship in your eyes never really existed. Instead, there loomed a connection built on false pretenses, one where you are pitied, judged and shamed for your thoughts and decisions, rather than an adult – or budding adult – capable of discerning what is best for yourself. No one else can ever truly know how difficult it is to live your life. It is vital we all remember to show proper respect to one another, allowing each of us to learn, grow, make mistakes, fall down, get back up again, and so on. Some, like I once did, find themselves wanting to fix others’ lives because they fear addressing their own. Sometimes, it is in everyone’s best interests to stay in your own lane, love others with a pure heart, not with the goal of changing them but accepting them where they’re at, and acknowledging the self-agency and free will of every person breathing on this planet. We all share the same air, and we all have a right to breathe it without fear of being reconstructed by others.

And if you ever are witness to a reconstruction on your block, take heart in the fact they are repairing a home, not a person fully capable of living their own life and deciding their next step in it.

In today’s story, “Cold Hands, Warm Heart,” a single woman finds another woman in need, and instead of reconstructing her in her own likeness, chooses to love her as she is: a peer with her own unique past and dreams, eager to reclaim the identity and connection she thought she once lost. I hope you enjoy this story. Please feel free to message me your thoughts, and if you appreciate my content, please support my work by buying me a coffee. Thank you so much for being here. 🙂

***