Moving the Furniture Never Helps
When I feel unsettled, I move furniture. I seem to believe that if I can just get my furniture in the right place, then my heart will be at peace. It is also, perhaps, a need to believe that I can control something in a life that feels out of my control. I may not know what the future holds, but I sure as heck know a better place for this bookcase. I remember when I was staying in my parents' basement after my divorce, shoving an antique roll-top desk across the floor with the full force of my body in the middle of the night. I think I moved the furniture in my 600 square foot apartment in Dallas at least 12 times in two years. I would be trying to scoot my impossibly weighty king size mattress, inch by inch, just because I became certain that my bed should be on the other wall. Every time my mom arrived in town for my cancer treatment, something would be different. And not all of my furniture is light Ikea pieces, mind you. My furniture is solid wood. It is heavy and ridiculous