The Teacher Next Door
Contributed by Bill McMillian

I've never loved a house like I've grown to love 21 South Highland.

It wasn't love at first sight. When I started working on the renovation of the 100-year old house, I was disgusted with its smoky filthiness and overwhelmed by the magnitude of work to be done. I thought cynically, "This project is too big for even an army of enthusiastic weekend volunteers to accomplish. The initial excitement will quickly die out when people begin to realize that they've taken on more than they can handle." I steeled myself to do what I could but kept my guard up against the inevitable disillusionment and defeat.

But from my first day at work, the house began to surprise me.

I remember that first Saturday helping Big Scott demolish a closet on the second floor. Our impossible task was to start transforming the cramped rooms of the former boarding house into bright, spacious offices for HFI staff. We worked with hammers and crowbars to tear out the sheetrock and framing. It was hard, dusty work but I could feel the child in me relishing deep feelings of violent destruction. All of a sudden as the low ceiling crashed down, a beautiful archway appeared. Behind the ugly wall covered by three layers of ancient wallpaper stood an elegant architectural wonder that had been hidden for decades. This building had been an expansive, single-family dwelling before it had been converted to a boarding house fifty years ago and it was as if it was waiting patiently all these years for us rediscover its warm grandeur and depth of soul.

In the days ahead, there were many more surprises in store for me. I slowly began to feel the energy of the old house. It was the energy of a wise and gentle teacher who offered a century of experience to anyone who was ready to learn. I saw the immediate impact that the building had on everyone who entered its doorway. Many could feel its big heart and were drawn into its holy spaces. Others resisted its pull on their lives, not seeing its wisdom or trusting its intentions. Still others could not tolerate the old house's dark imperfections and distanced themselves, longing for the day when its transformation would be complete. The wise, old teacher accepted them all graciously and made no demands that they be anything other than who they are.

During my two and half months of working in the house I began to realize that it was transforming me more than I was transforming it. I noticed the effect on my body immediately. Hard physical labor left me with muscle cramps and soreness and cuts and scrapes, but I had expected that. What surprised me was how the energy shifted in my body. My old, familiar way of approaching a job was to project my energy out and upward in front of me. That seemed to serve me well in my previous career in engineering management where anticipating and solving problems was customary. But working in the old house settled my energy more deeply into my chest, abdomen and legs. As I labored with my hands, I felt more grounded in my body. As a result I gained physical stamina and felt a greater sense of balance, stability and calmness.

The house also wanted to teach me about attachment and control. I remember one 24-hour period when nothing was going right and I found myself slipping back into my old managerial role of trying to bring order out of chaos. I felt my body tighten as I unconsciously took on the organization and scheduling of the whole project. Fortunately after a good night's sleep and some input from people I trust, I was able to let go of most of my need to control what was happening and to relax again into what the house wanted me to learn.

I am grateful for gaining an intimate knowledge of this old house, a knowledge that has come from long hours crawling in the dark attic to run the new telephone wiring or pulling ancient square nails out of dense, dry wood and cutting through thick walls to install air conditioners or repairing aged plaster that shattered at the slightest touch. I have bonded with this old house and have become a disciple of its Zen-like instruction.

My only regret is that I will not be here to experience the final result: to see the old house joined to the HFI building and to feel the rich energy that flows through the connection. When that day comes I believe you will sense that my teacher, the old house nextdoor, will be smiling with silent approval.