It's a small thing, really, coming home to an apartment that feels nice. But it's made all the difference these past few days, when all I want to do is come home and sit still. Even better, Jesus did part of the rearranging while I was at work - coming home that day felt like a surprise party for one (the ideal surprise party for an introvert).
To be clear, we don't just move furniture around and call it a day. There's a method to our movement. Before anything happens, we decide that something isn't working in a room: no one ever sits on that couch because xyz is in the way, the bed is too close to the door or too far from an outlet, the radiators turned on and the bikes need to be pulled away from all that heat. We toss out a few ideas, weigh the pros and cons, and decide what we want.
Then it's moving time. Things get hairy here...literally. All the moving stirs up dust bunnies and while Jesus is chief of big furniture, I am in charge of sweeping previously unreachable corners. Big pieces get placed in their new homes, followed by smaller things like chairs or side tables or lamps. There's some room for mid-move adjustments as we realize parts of our plan might not work - tables are too long or too high for some spots, traffic flow is blocked, or it plain doesn't look good (sometimes our "method" is more of a gut feeling) - but we work through the knots until we have something fresh and practical.
Lastly, finishing touches. Vases, tchotchkes, and plants fall into place. We stand back and appraise our work, then sit in the space and feel it out some more. A few nods, and we're good. For at least a few months.
Extra: More rearranging thoughts & a poem.