I had lost my equilibrium.

My closet floors had been cleared out. My hamper and over-sized plastic bin of kibble sat upright in my guest bathroom’s tub.

Small objects found temporary space on top of my stacked washer and dryer.

And my router was unplugged. It rested on top of my kitchen counter. No WiFi, no streaming media, no home Internet. No Colbert before I dozed off at night.

I was finally getting around to having my wood floors refinished, a project that I had put off many times because of money and inconvenience.

For the past eight years, I have lived in a fourteen hundred square foot vintage condo. I was not ready to have the floors done when I moved in and didn’t realize how hard it would be to have this work done later.

Cost was always a factor. I kept thinking I’d have the floors sanded and stained in a few years, when I had more cash. Of course, this ideal state didn’t become my reality.

Besides, I had nowhere to put my STUFF, nowhere to sleep, while the work was being done.

It felt, though, that I couldn’t put the project off any longer. Dark spots, from water damage, and scratches left from using budget movers, brought up concerns that I was doing permanent damage by not making the investment.

I discovered that there was new technology that made the project more doable, sanding equipment that left minimal dust and water-based stains that meant hardly any fumes.

Because the work was not done when the place was empty, extra planning was involved. I had to find people to help me move my things on three separate visits.

They had to move furniture that occupied the back of my place to the front. Three days later, they had to move everything back to my kitchen, dining area and office — along with everything from my living room and master bedroom — while the front of my place got sanded and stained. And eventually, everything had to be put away.

I had to work on myself as well.

For weeks before the scheduled work, I purged. Paper mostly. Some shoes. I shredded old financial documents and simply threw out drafts of creative work in the recycling bin.

I bought myself a new lightweight sofa that turns into a bed and was able to give away my old one. Finding a new home for something I can’t use always makes me feel good.

The biggest challenge involved picking a stain.

I listened to friends talk about the process they went through enroute to a decision. I took note of what shades of wood were featured in magazines. I listened to flooring professionals talk about what tones would be less likely to show marks over time.

The “father,” from the father and son team at Nex Flooring stained areas in my office with four different colors.  Not small squares either.  Each sample area was at least 12” x 12”.

Slowly, in perfect English but with an accent that revealed having roots in Eastern Europe, he posed.  “Which color do you like best? You are the one that has to be happy with it.”

Oh my God. Much of my early life was spent trying to figure out what other people wanted for me. I wanted them to be happy with my choices to such an extent, I often didn’t know what I wanted.

He went on.  “I have had customers that changed their minds after a month. Whatever makes them happy is okay.”

Then, as if to relieve me of some pressure, he added “You can look at these samples in different light. Up to four o-clock today. Then, call us with your decision, so that we have what you want for tomorrow morning.”

We’re always in the process of getting finished, or getting “refinished” — doing work on ourselves and making choices.

Choosing to go through a period of discomfort, even chaos, while “refinishing” is no small thing.