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If you haven’t been following along closely (because honestly, I haven’t documented much of this publicly), we’ve been in the early stages of a kitchen renovation.
And by “early stages,” I mean the part where you think you’re making simple decisions… only to learn later that nothing in renovations is simple. Not one thing.

The first big choice we tackled was flooring.
New kitchen, new hallway, fresh start — let’s pick something beautiful, durable, and maybe a little different from what we had before.

When the samples arrived, I was excited.
It felt modern. Fresh. A bold pivot.
My spouse was more cautious — not in love, but willing to see how it looked on a bigger scale.

We both agreed:
Let’s wait until it’s installed before making any final judgments.

So they installed it.
Glued it.
Fully committed it to our home and our souls.

And I… still liked it!
Or at least I thought I did.
The first section looked good. New. Interesting.

But then the whole hallway was finished — the long, connected space — and suddenly the vibe shifted.
Something about it felt odd.
Not bad, just… wrong.
Wrong enough that even walking by it felt like catching my reflection in a store window and thinking, “Oh. That’s what I look like?”

I told myself it was just because it was a dramatic change from what we had.
Meanwhile, my spouse had disliked it from day one but was trying to stay open-minded.

So we sat with it.
For a full week.

Tried to let it grow on us.
Tried to be reasonable adults.
Tried to convince ourselves that maybe this was just the “adjustment period” people talk about.

Except… no.
The more we lived with it, the more obvious it became:

We hate it.
Both of us.
Deeply.
Collectively.
With unity and conviction.

And yes — it’s still glued down.
Nothing says “fun weekend project” like undoing a decision that’s literally fused to the structure of your home.

So here we are:
Hit pause.
Reassess.
Pivot.
Reno chaos unlocked.

Here’s the part I’ve been sitting with:
I pushed for this floor.
I liked how different it felt.
And because I’m someone who likes to move fast — make the decision, keep the momentum, don’t slow down — I didn’t pause long enough to really let the choice settle.

Slowing down isn’t natural for me.
I don’t like admitting I got something wrong.
And in renovation land, “wrong” can be expensive, messy, and deeply annoying.

But we should’ve paused.
We should’ve let ourselves breathe between options.
We should’ve taken the slower, less impulsive route.

This week’s uncomfortable-but-necessary takeaway?

You’re allowed to rethink things.
You’re allowed to change your mind.
You’re allowed to admit a choice isn’t working — even if it’s glued down.

It’s not failure.
It’s recalibration.
And sometimes growth looks like prying up the floor you regret choosing.

Talk soon,
Tara
CEO of Chaos & Co.