I built a house once. It was a long time ago. A different lifetime ago. But I still pass it every time I visit my parents. It remains one of my most frustrating and unsatisfying accomplishments, but something I’ve never regretted.

I knew every inch of that house when it was still just on paper. Before that even, when it was only in my head. I knew little about construction except what I’d learned from watching my dad as he fixed this or that. Dad was fearless about the projects he took on. Nothing seemed to intimidate him, regardless of his level of experience with whatever skills the job might require. He had this “every expert was once a beginner” mentality about him that I think rubbed off on me. If others could learn to do it, just as he learned to do it, so could I.

I began envisioning my future house when the lot was nothing but a weedy, junk-car-covered piece of ground on the next ridge over from my parent’s house. At first, I was fascinated by log homes, so I immersed myself, reading everything I could find about that type of construction. Then I became intrigued with both underground and expandable homes (the latter being homes that are completely under roof but only partially finished, with the basement, attic or upstairs rooms left to do later). My research was extensive.

Gradually, I came up with my plan. Build a basement that was topped with a subfloor (to support later levels), then cover that subfloor with industrial grade rubber roofing to keep the water out. Finish the basement with a full bath and its own mini-kitchen, and live there until enough money was saved to build the rest of the house.

The night before the first dozer was scheduled to arrive on the site, the immensity of what was about to happen suddenly loomed large. This wasn’t some little weekend craft project. It was a house. It was every cent we had saved. There was no water at the site. No electricity, gas, sewer, telephone or cable. There wasn’t even a road. I had never attempted anything even close to this size. It terrified me.

I realize now how dangerous it can be to step back and look at the big picture. When I did, I was so overwhelmed I nearly called it all off. Somehow, though, I forced myself to see just one step at a time. Dozer work first, gravel the road second, order block third, find contractors for whatever we could not do ourselves. Each was a small and totally do-able step.

Those small steps continued until the basement was done and, a few years later, the rest of the house under roof. Then, when the house was just one room and some flooring away from completion, my husband and I were divorced. Someone else lives in my dream house.

Frustrating as that was (and still occasionally is), it’s not something I would have avoided. I think sometimes more is gained from the journey than from actually reaching the destination.

Wrote professor Betty Bender, “Anything I’ve ever done that was ultimately worthwhile initially scared me to death.”

The house wasn’t the only time I found myself feeling that way.

I built a person once. It was a long time ago. Nine years this month. At first, I didn’t know what I was doing there either, but I stuck with it, determined to go from beginner to expert. Celeste has been an often frustrating, yet immensely satisfying, part of my life. When I was hugely pregnant and the contractions were coming two minutes apart, I remember thinking, This is really happening. This little girl is going to be depending on ME for ages to come. I saw the immensity of it and it scared me to death.

Sometimes it still does.

But, much like with that house, I’ve been taking it one small and totally do-able step at a time.

And she’s definitely something I’ve never regretted.

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