I’m someone who like to rearrange things often. There’s something deeply human about the urge to move things around. A chair angled differently. A table placed under new light. A shelf cleared, then filled again. Rearranging furniture may seem like a practical act, but often, it reflects something more..an inner shift we can’t quite name. We do it when we feel stuck. When seasons change. After a heartbreak. Before a new chapter. It’s a physical way of saying: I need something to feel different, even if just slightly. And it works. The room feels new, and so do we, if only a little. These small changes are our way of reasserting agency. Of creating motion when life feels still. Of turning space into a canvas that mirrors the version of ourselves we’re becoming. Sometimes, moving a lamp or opening up a corner feels like opening something inside us too. It’s not about perfection. It’s about resonance. A room that reflects our now, not our before. A quiet alignment between our environment and our evolving selves. And so we move the couch. We stack the books differently. We face the bed toward the morning light. Not because it changes the world, but because it reminds us that we can.