an inside job

I've started yet another remodeling project in the cabin. This time it's the kitchen that fell victim to my hammer and grandeur ideas. It's not like it was merely a whim based on aesthetic boredom.  I mean the "grandeur" part of my ideas certainly runs away with crazy concepts suitable for the cover photo of Home and Garden however, there are some real structural issues inside the can of worms that i just opened.  A seriously sloping subfloor,  for example. Electrical issues, drywall repair, and space utilization also abound.   Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I've decided to build my own countertops and cabinetry.  Of course I am. Why would I want to go the easy route and buy something.  I've been pondering the very thought myself actually. 
I've noticed some patterns pertaining to my need to "destroy and rebuild stonger" mentality.  This mindset literally runs rampant in everything I do.
Everything.
Don't give me the brand new, shiny stuff. I want the old stuff that someone decided wasn't worth it anymore. 
Worth.
There are volumes and volumes of depth in this word for me.
I am consistently attracted to worn, dilapidated, and discarded things. It's an insatiable need to expose the beauty hidden in the cracks, bent edges, and neglected bones of whatever it is that has cought my undivided attention.  It's a need to prove that what someone else had given up on, thrown away, left on the way side...was really a buried treasure that was merely waiting for someone to see.
It was worth it all along. 
These patterns I mentioned...
Inevitably, I find myself reaching for my tools or looking for a project that allows me to create whenever there is noise on the inside. My insides.
My brain, without fail, turns the non-stop musings of thought and emotions into a physical manifestation of "destroy and build stronger".
 I subconciously address my own internal "sloping subfloors", space management, cracks and bent edges by fixing that which is front of me. Things I can see and touch and feel. Things that I can sand, cut, bend, paint, and beautify in order to feel some fleeting sense of having accomplished the directive. By the time I'm done with this cabin, my insides should be remodeled just perfectly.
Whether it's my own body that I abuse with workouts that leave me puking on the side of the trail, or a kitchen that feels the swing of my hammer as I rip it apart, I always offer the reassurance to the subject of my destruction that the pain will be worth it in the end.
There will be strength.
There will be beauty.
And someone will see that it was worth it all along.