The Kitchen I Coveted

Saturday mornings

For a while, Saturday mornings followed the same routine.

I'd climb into my little black Chevy and drive to Tim Hortons.

I'd wait in the drive-through line for a sausage breakfast sandwich, an orange juice and, if I was feeling a little greedy, an apple fritter.

Then I'd head home, settle onto the couch and turn on a home renovation show.

One episode became two.

Sometimes two turned into four.

The same kitchen

A few hours later, I'd get up for a glass of water or whatever had me wandering into the kitchen.

Almost every time, I'd look around and think my kitchen didn't seem quite as nice as it had that morning.

It never made much sense.

Nothing had changed.

The cupboards were the same.

The mocha oak floor I'd been so excited to install was still there.

The stove still made breakfast.

The room was exactly the same one I'd been proud of.

Still, every Saturday it seemed to lose a little something.

The renovation I imagined

I started thinking about what it would cost to renovate.

A brand-new kitchen.

New cabinets.

New countertops.

New appliances.

A complete gut remodel.

Thirty thousand dollars.

And for what?

My kitchen still worked.

I just couldn't see it the way I used to.

The stove on the screen

Then one Saturday, something caught my attention.

A couple stood in the middle of their newly renovated kitchen while the camera slowly pulled back to reveal the finished room.

The host was talking.

I wasn't really listening.

I was looking at the stove.

It looked familiar.

I leaned forward.

Then I picked up the remote and paused the show.

It was my stove.

Not one that looked like mine.

My stove.

I actually got up and walked into my own kitchen.

There it was.

The same knobs.

The same handle.

The same oven door.

I laughed.

What changed

For months, I'd been convinced my kitchen looked dated.

Meanwhile, my stove had just been featured in someone's dream renovation.

Nothing in my kitchen had changed.

Only what I'd been comparing it to.

Every Saturday, I'd spend hours looking at homes that had been cleaned, painted, staged and professionally lit.

Then I'd walk into the room where breakfast had been made.

Where groceries were unpacked.

Where yesterday's mail sat on the counter.

Where a dish towel hung over the oven handle.

Where my little rescue dog had left toys across the floor.

It wasn't a showroom.

It was my life.

Seeing it again

For years, I thought I wanted a different kitchen.

Looking back, I don't think I did.

I wanted the feeling I had when this one was still new.

The funny thing is, if I walked into someone else's house tomorrow and they had my kitchen, I'd probably think it looked beautiful.

Not because it was different.

Because it wasn't mine.

That's the trap.

We don't always replace things because they're worn out.

Sometimes we replace them because we've stopped seeing them.

I still enjoy watching home renovation shows.

I still admire beautiful homes.

But I'm not trying to live in a showroom.

I'm trying to build a life.