There’s something humbling and yet exciting about standing in the middle of your own house and realizing it no longer functions the way it did just a few weeks ago.

As I write this, our kitchen is gone.

What was once the heart of our home, coffee brewing in the morning, family and friends gathering around the island, unloading groceries, and dinner preparations has been reduced to dust, exposed walls, and possibility.

And honestly? It’s been more emotional than I expected.

For someone who has spent nearly three decades helping people buy and sell homes throughout Healdsburg and Sonoma County, I’ve walked through thousands of properties. I’ve seen elaborate remodels, dream kitchens, and beautiful transformations. I’ve helped clients envision potential where others only saw projects.

But living through your own remodel is different.

Suddenly I understand why clients feel overwhelmed by decisions. Why timelines feel long. Why budgets stretch. Why temporary inconvenience can feel exhausting.

We’ve condensed life into a smaller part of our house for now. Everyday routines take more planning. Meals are not only simpler, mostly out.  Counters disappear. Things aren’t where they belong.

Yet somewhere in the middle of all of that, something interesting starts to happen.

I’m not worried about what will look impressive but how do we actually need to live.
Can we entertain only outside? What items do we reach for every day? What spaces make us feel calm?

Working in real estate has taught me that the most successful homes aren’t necessarily the most expensive homes. They’re the homes that reflect the people who live there.

I’ve walked through homes valued at many millions of dollars that felt cold and disconnected. I’ve also walked through modest homes where every corner reflected intention, care, and pride of ownership. Those are the homes people remember.

As Tom and I make decisions during this remodel, I keep reminding myself that perfection isn’t the goal. Creating a home that supports the life you want to live, that’s the goal.

Maybe this season looks like paper plates, dust, and making coffee in a temporary setup. But maybe that’s okay. Because home isn’t the kitchen. It’s still the conversations. The people. The routines. The dog lying in the sun. The glass of wine at the end of the day. The excitement of imagining what comes next.

And for now, we’re learning to enjoy both the process and the possibility.