Fear of commitment

Being in the market for a new can opener (see previous blog entry for why), I was talking with a friend about them. I mentioned that we didn't have enough counter space for an electric one, and she suggested a wall-mounted one.

I gasped. "I can't just put something like that on the wall," I whispered. "There's a process we have to go through to put anything on the walls."

Hanging things on the walls of my home, in terms of commitment, ranks right up there with buying the home itself. I have to find just the right item and just the right spot for it. This can take decades. The item occupies prime floor space while I decide for certain where -- or even if -- I want it on the wall. And the whole house has to be done at the same time, so that there is an overall theme to things. I am paralyzed by fear that I will ruin the wall, ruin the look of the arrangement, change my mind and have holes all over the place. Once I do put something up, it's up for life, so I don't want to screw anything up. The result is that a year after we moved into our place, the walls remain largely free of adornment.

Not surprisingly, this process sometimes exasperates Joe. He does not understand why perfectly good pictures and antique items have to remain in the moving boxes when there is plenty of wall space to accommodate them. He'll carry a picture around to every wall in the house and ask, "How about here? This is a good spot."

But it is never good enough for me, and I always beg him to wait on making a decision. As if another, more acceptable wall will somehow pop up further down the road.

One day we were trying to find the perfect spot to mount an antique cup holder in the bathroom. This should have been easy. We could pretty much rule out the wall with the shower on it, and of course behind the door. That left only two walls. And yet I just could not make a final -- for-the-rest-of-my-life, at least in this house -- decision. Who knew what could happen if we chose the wrong spot?

Finally, Joe said, "Here, give me that," and grabbed the drill I was holding. Without bothering to measure anything or even make a pencil mark, he drilled a hole, screwed in the cup holder, and popped the glass cup in the holder. It was all over in 15 seconds.

"Was that so hard?" he asked.

"It's too high," I said immediately.

"Well, that's where it's staying," he said.

And ever since, I have regretted putting it where we did. I look at that cup holder every day and will it to move lower.

We have not hung another thing on the walls since.