Making Space

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about space. Perhaps it is because we are in the process of re-inhabiting our spaces. Perhaps it is because when I turn on the news or open Social Media, the world feels a little chaotic and I am looking for calm, something I can control while the news cycle becomes more and more unraveled.

This kind of making space, however, is not the dramatic kind we imagine in January – the kind where we reorganize everything, purge all the unwanted clutter and make plans for perfect meal planning. We are certainly not there, though we did do quite a bit of purging both when we packed the storage unit last spring, and again when we unpacked it last week. This is a quieter kind of making space. The kind that happens in real homes, with people living real lives, and real seasons where nothing is quite finished yet.

Our table has just been cleared.
Boxes linger in the garage.
Corners are in progress.
The kitchen is still very unfinished.

So for a long time, I believed that meant I couldn’t begin.

But what I am learning through this season of rebuilding is that making space doesn’t require everything to be cleared. It only asks that we notice where there is room enough.

Room enough to breathe.
Room enough to pause.
Room enough to put one thing back where it belongs.
Room enough to invite one person, or three, or seven, in.

The message of January is often that we should start fresh, clean slate, no mess allowed. But that’s rarely how life actually works. Most of us begin the year carrying pieces of the last one with us with unfinished projects, tired hearts, stories still unfolding.

Making space, then, becomes less about erasing what was and more about choosing what we’re willing to hold gently. So this week, I’ve been paying attention to small acts of clearing. Folding a blanket instead of reorganizing a closet. Washing a mug slowly instead of rushing through the sink of dishes. Sitting in a room that isn’t quite done and letting it be good enough for now.

None of these things look impressive. But they feel kind.

There’s power in choosing small clearings during a season that encourages excess. Excess planning, excess striving, excess expectation. These moments remind me that I don’t need to overhaul my entire life to care for it. I just need to tend it, one corner at a time.

Space isn’t always physical, either.

Sometimes it’s space between thoughts, between breaths.
Space before responding.
Space to let a feeling pass without fixing it.

That kind of space is harder to see, but it’s often the kind of space we need most.

This January, I’m not chasing perfectly organized rooms or perfect systems. Though I will get the garage cleared out and the cabinets organized. I’m also practicing something quieter, noticing where I can soften, release, and set things down. Even briefly.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the idea of starting over, consider this your permission slip. You don’t have to clear everything. You don’t have to be finished. You don’t even have to know what comes next.

One small clearing is enough.

And from there, space has a way of finding you.