I’m in the midst of the Russian nesting doll of projects: moving.
You know how those dolls work? You open one, and there’s another inside. And another. And another. Projects that just keep revealing more projects underneath.
Late last year, we bought a three-bedroom townhome in our current complex. My husband had been working out of the corner of our living room for five years, so when a unit opened up, we went for it.
We’re literally moving 500 feet away. Which should make this easy, right? Sort of.
We have all the standard move-in issues.
A leaky shower head we forgot about during the plumbing repairs we had done right after closing.
The tensioner on the beaded shades in my office is broken, so my shades only come down halfway. (Which is extremely annoying when you’re trying to work and the sun is blazing directly into your eyes.)
The HVAC system balancing means my husband’s office is freezing while mine is too warm.
At some point, the dishwasher toe kick plate got damaged.
You know. Normal moving chaos.
We’re also dealing with a very specific problem that comes from moving just 500 feet away.
We didn’t fully pack everything. We ran out of time and boxes, and we thought, “We can just run home to get things.” Which seemed logical at the time.
So when I went to make dinner one night, I had pots… but no lids. I couldn’t find my colander for draining pasta. I had salt but was missing cinnamon. I’m pretty sure my favorite jeans are back in the other house.
And our garage is totally full, so for the last week I parked my car back at the old house. (Which I conveniently forgot about as I was running out the door to yoga.)
And then there’s the projects that beget projects that beget more projects.
Just like the nesting dolls, each layer leads to more projects.
The storage in our new place is different, even within the same complex. Things that used to fit in the garage don’t fit anymore in that location. Which means: garage storage project!
I don’t know how the previous owners slept without blackout shades… but between that and the broken one in my office: window treatment project!
Then there’s hanging art, replacing light fixtures, mounting the TV, replacing the faucet, updating the security system, updating every address on business and personal information…
It makes me weep a bit, and we don’t even have kids. For parents who move… I bow down to you.
The only way through
The only way through is to do one bit at a time.
Every night and morning, I’m unpacking one box. I’m unpacking one room at a time. I’m making one installation call, finding one vendor.
Of course I have a shared task list in Google Sheets for this. When I get anxious as I’m getting ready for bed, I need a place to organize my thoughts. I’d never remember everything I had to do in my head, especially as this project will take months.
Yet, slowly but surely, the “moving” project will end. By this time next year, we’ll have moved in, rented out our old place, reconfigured the garage, and hosted many hangouts at our home.
Most projects have an end to them, as long as you break them down into tasks. (In most cases. My brother and sister-in-law seem to always have some kind of reno project happening—but design and construction is a passion of theirs, while a reluctance of mine.)
Writing the book was the same way. Months of “will this ever be done?” followed by the realization that I’d massively underestimated the final push. The edits. The checkout setup. The shipping process.
Each big project opened up to reveal another layer of work I hadn’t fully anticipated. But the book launched. The house will get unpacked. I will move on to the next non-house project.
These things have endings—as long as you keep chipping away.
The only way these projects get done?
Protecting time.
Choosing smaller steps.
Asking for help (from movers, handymen, and colleagues who send me referrals for their garage person, window treatment person, etc.).
Not starting a bunch of new projects until the current ones are done enough.
And looking out to a future that’s not filled with badly labeled boxes.
P.S.: This is why Building Blocks exists. Breaking overwhelming projects into “unpack one box”-sized steps—and protecting the time to do them—is a skill. Whether you’re moving, launching something, or trying to get your taxes in order, the same strategies apply. Sometimes you need a framework for figuring out what actually comes first. Sometimes you need an approach for prioritizing small steps. Sometimes you need permission to go slow and not throw out your back. No matter what, it’s one piece at a time.
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