Repair to my liking or buy already made... LOH 255

I’ve been turning this question over in my mind lately, and I keep coming back to what it really means to choose something meaningful over something merely convenient. Imagine I’ve worked hard, saved, waited, now I can buy a house. One house stands out, big, beautiful, full of character but its best years are behind it. It creaks here and there. The paint peels. The roof leaks in spots. It looks a bit tired. But underneath all that wear, there’s potential. There are memories hidden in its walls, stories waiting to be reawakened.

Then there's the other option, small, tidy, everything works. You walk in, turn on the lights, no surprises. But it lacks history. It lacks opportunity to grow into something uniquely mine. It gives comfort and comfort is valuable but it doesn’t give me the chance to leave a mark. It doesn’t need me in the same way. It doesn’t call me to breathe life back into it.
Convenience, on the other hand, offers speed and ease. It spares you the endless decision making, the frustration when work stalls, when labor costs more than you budgeted. That option would let me move in quickly, feel secure quickly. And there’s a comfort in that certainty, no surprises, no unplanned repairs, no headaches. But convenience also means fewer moments that stretch you. Fewer moments that demand patience, creativity, sacrifice, or learning. It means you accept what is, without transforming much of it.

Choosing meaningful over convenient feels riskier. It means accepting discomfort. It means allowing imperfection in the process. It means living for a while in dust and noise. It means nights when the work is overwhelming. It means that you won’t always know what the end looks like. It means faith. But what I get in return is worth the risk, the house becomes a symbol of growth. It becomes something only I could create, something that carries my fingerprints, something I make to my taste, not just physically, but in decisions, in style, in memories.
I think, after reflection, I’d choose the house that needs work. I’d choose to build something meaningful instead of settling for convenience. Because meaning is found in the journey. It’s in the careful brush strokes of new paint, in clearing away the weeds that grew too high, in restoring wooden floors, in laughing over mistakes made during renovations. That kind of home grows with you. It becomes layered with your sweat, your late nights, your smells of fresh paint, of sawdust, of the scent of plant pots you moved around until they felt right.

When you walk through that repaired home years later, you don’t just see walls and furniture, you see stages, this is when the roof stopped leaking, this is when I saved enough for the new kitchen, this is when friends came over and helped me paint. Those are no small things, they are your story.

In that home, every corner holds intention. The imperfect tile that cracked but still shines under the sunlight. The patched wall that reminds me of lessons learned. The garden I planted outside that took time to bloom. All those small victories, the turned knobs, secure windows, freshly painted doors, each one carries weight.

I believe that something meaningful, something built, shaped, loved, is richer than something perfect from the start. It teaches gratitude, it teaches humility, it teaches perseverance, and when visitors walk in, they don’t just admire the face they sense the care. They sense that this is more than just shelter, it’s sanctuary, because I made it so, the way I want it

So yes, given the chance, I’d take the house that needs repair. I’d choose the challenge, the opportunity to build something meaningful and something to my taste rather than accepting instant comfort. Because in the end, I think a home created through effort becomes more than a place, it becomes a reflection of the heart that built

Choosing to build something meaningful might take more time, more patience, and more effort, but it’s a choice I can afford to make. After all, I have the money. So why not invest it in something that will grow with me, reflect me, and truly feel like my kind of home?