Beach Houses and Renovations
Renovating a Beach House: A Comedy of Errors and Empty Wallets
There’s a special kind of optimism that comes with buying a beach house. You walk in, see the potential, and think, Oh, this will be fun! The sun, the sand, the ocean breeze—what could possibly go wrong?
And then you decide to renovate it.
That’s when the real adventure begins. Renovating a beach house is a lot like herding seagulls—chaotic, unpredictable, and you never quite know who’s going to show up, what they’re going to charge you, or if they even understand the vision in your head.
Our beach house was 25 years old and desperately needed some love—kind of like an old beach chair that’s been left out in the elements too long. It still had good bones, but let’s just say “charming” wasn’t the word anyone would have used to describe it. I could see the potential. I could see the future of cozy mornings with coffee on the deck, soft ocean breezes through open windows, and decor that whispered effortless coastal elegance rather than last updated when dial-up internet was a thing.
What I didn’t see was the absolute circus it would take to get there.
If you’ve ever read When You Give a Pig a Pancake, you already know how this story goes.
If you replace the floors, you’ll realize the walls look terrible.
If you repaint the walls, suddenly the cabinets look like they belong in a museum of outdated design choices.
If you replace the cabinets, well, now the countertops don’t match.
And if you replace the countertops, why not just redo the whole kitchen?
And if you redo the whole kitchen… surprise! You’ve blown through your budget, and you still don’t have curtains.
It’s a domino effect of destruction and decision-making, where every “quick fix” turns into an existential crisis about tile choices.
The Cast of Characters in a Beach House Renovation
Of course, no renovation is complete without the rotating cast of contractors, handymen, and people who “know a guy”—a delightful mix of experts, optimists, and those who may or may not actually own a toolbox.
The No-Show: Says he’ll be there Monday. You won’t see him again until June.
The Over-Pricer: Quotes you a price so high you briefly consider switching careers to drywall installation.
The Over-Promiser: “Oh yeah, we’ll have this done in two weeks.” (Narrator: It was not done in two weeks.)
The Genius: The rare unicorn who actually knows what they’re doing and restores your faith in humanity.
The Mystery Man: Shows up unannounced, fixes something, and vanishes. You don’t know who hired him, what he did, or how to pay him.
And through it all, I kept trying to explain my vision—my dream of creating a beautiful, charming, cozy retreat by the water. The problem? My vision was in my head, and the people holding the tools weren’t mind readers.
Me: I want a breezy, coastal vibe, soft and timeless, something Joanna Gaines would approve of.
Contractor: So… you want shiplap?
Me: No, no, more like understated coastal elegance.
Contractor: So… shiplap?
Me: Forget it. Just fix the wall.
Beach Houses (and People) Need Love
Somewhere between the unexpected plumbing crisis and discovering that my budget had been obliterated, I had a realization: People are a lot like beach houses.
Some are a little worn down, a little weathered by life’s storms. They might have some creaky floors and peeling paint, but underneath it all, they still have good bones. They just need a little care, a little patience, and maybe a new coat of paint (metaphorically or otherwise).
Renovating a house—much like renovating yourself—takes more time, money, and energy than you ever expect. It’s frustrating, exhausting, and by the end, you might find yourself crying in a hardware store over grout colors.
But then, one day, you walk into the house. You take a deep breath. The chaos is gone, the light is just right, and you see it—the home you always knew was waiting underneath.
And you realize… it was worth it.
(But let’s be honest. I’m still recovering financially, so if you come visit, bring your own curtains.)
