“The world will not evolve past its current state of crisis by using the same thinking that created the situation.”

—Albert Einstein

When I was in 1^st grade, my family had a house fire, and in the course of repairing and renovating the house, my parents added carpet to my bedroom. As an added security measure, they also installed one of those heat-activated sprinkler systems throughout the house.

A couple of years later, when I was 9 or 10, the sprinkler in my bedroom (a lemon) went off in the middle of the night. I ran to my father for help. The roof above my bedroom had broken open, I told him! To my young and sleep addled brain, this seemed the only possible explanation for what had happened.

The water was eventually shut off, the faulty sprinkler removed and replaced, and the windows to my room left open over the course of several days, with fans running hour after hour. At a certain point, the room was declared ‘dry enough’, and I was permitted to move back in. My mother noticed over the course of the next few months that some water stains appeared on the kitchen ceiling, which was concerning, (the kitchen ceiling being directly below my bedroom). But beyond that, we just sort of had to assume that the problem was resolved, as life continued to be busy with this and that and always something else to occupy our attention.

Fast forward 22 years, and the carpet in my bedroom had become…well, gross. (Also, side note, I think that carpet in general is gross. Why do we choose to put thick fabric on the floor and then walk around on it?) With extra time on my hands during an extended visit to my mom’s house during the pandemic, I broached the question of the carpet to my mom. Could I just remove it? I consulted the all-mighty How-To Gods on YouTube, and watched confident and muscled men remove strips of carpet in seconds flat—it looked doable enough. My mom was nervous, though. We still didn’t really know what the state of the floor was. What if the wood floor underneath was ruined? What if there ended up being mold there, or some other situation that the carpet had masked for years that required extensive and expensive repairs?

I reassured her, (after all, I had YouTubed it!) and eventually secured her go-ahead. I watched more how-to videos, read DIY blogs, visited the hardware store several times, and marked out some time on my calendar to do the work. I was so excited!

And then, as the appointed time approached, I too began to feel nervous.

What if there was mold?

What if the floor was irreparably damaged?

What if I made some costly mistake during the removal process, or hurt myself, or made some other type of irreversible error?

To my great surprise, I began to try to talk myself out of the project to which I had looked forward for several months.

Was it too risky to look? Sure the carpet was gross. But at least it was a known quantity.

Uncertainty is surprisingly uncomfortable, and change is unsettling. In the face of uncertainty, it sometimes feels easiest to revert to our most familiar anxiety patterns. I have found, however, that it’s generally better to get curious and look. When I am uncertain about something, and afraid of what I might find if I investigate too deeply, I begin to build scary narratives in my mind about what might be. What could happen. Why it’s better to just ignore x,y, or z, because…who knows? My brain makes up all kinds of completely ridiculous scenarios about what could go wrong and why it’s better just to not do anything ever.

What if there was some rare kind of mold under there that had dried but left toxic residue, and I somehow unleashed it into the air? And my mom got really sick and it was all my fault?

What if I pulled the carpet up at a weird angle and injured myself and never fully recovered?

What if…?

What if…?

Finally, I cued up an Anjelique Kidjo CD on the boom box; I donned my protective goggles and my respirator; I brandished my Exacto knife and my pliers…and I pulled up that carpet.

Hallelujah! What a difference. Right away, the room felt so much better, lighter, cleaner, clearer. Freedom!

And the floor is a little damaged, but intact. And I also felt the glow of accomplishment and pleasure from having seen my project from inspiration through to (almost) completion. (I still have to clean and refinish the floor in there.)

My Challenge to You:

When you come to a threshold, and you can’t see what’s on the other side, but you really want to cross it—like, deep in your bones—

Of course do your homework and gather information.

Of course do your due diligence and ask questions and be as prepared as possible when confronting a new situation. (Wear that respirator! Old carpet is gross!)

Of course use common sense and get yourself support when you need it.

But when the time comes, just move forward and take a peek. Be honest and straightforward, and use your own two eyes to see what’s there to see. It’s so liberating when you stop making up horror stories and just LOOK.