I moved the other week.

Moving is so challenging, so chaotic. So BIG. There’s the physical aspect; all the things, the objects – the stuff that has to be packed or tossed. There are organizational demands like ordering new phone service and changing address records with the post office and one hundred and one creditors. And then there’s the emotional aspect; the exhilaration of starting over and possible regrets over what is being left behind or unfinished.

Once I came to the decision to move, I had to work within a short, one-month, timeframe. Part of my motivation for moving was that I wanted to have a garage for my new car, and I needed to settle in to a new place before Chicago’s brutal winter set in. I found a place I liked within a week of my decision to move, or at least I think I liked it. It was an odd, but unmistakable anxiety that kept filtering through my mind as I packed my dishes and office supplies, as I boxed shelves of CDs and books. Where would everything go? I kept trying to remember what my new home looked like.

In retrospect, it seems funny how such a big decision could be made in a nanosecond. I filled out an application the first time I saw the apartment and coughed up my first month’s rent and security deposit nearly as quickly. I had only seen the place once, for a total of fifteen minutes, before committing. A week before the move, as I was refining my checklists and thinking about how I would make my home at this new address, I realized I couldn’t remember the dimensions and configuration of the bedroom. I couldn’t recall how big any of the closets were.

Only after three movers descended on my School Street address and strapped black Sharpie labeled and neatly stacked boxes to their backs, Sherpa-like, for treks down one second floor walk-up to deposit them on the second floor of a similar building two miles away, did the situation fully sink in. They left me alone at my new place with mountains of corrugated cardboard and a commensurate amount of overwhelm. Only then did I really look at my new home. Only then did I recognize some of the quirks of my new flat on Mozart Street.

I had to discover where the light switches were. Once they were located, I learned most of them were wired backwards. A power on position meant the rocker switch was pointed downwards instead of up. How about the locks? I wondered if I would have to push my hip against the back door to get the dead bolt aligned well enough to lock. The refrigerator, I just now noticed, had a left-handed handle.

One of the oddest things I totally forgot about after my fifteen minute walk-through, was that the kitchen sink was situated in the tightest corner of the room. The kitchen had limited counter space to begin with. And now, I could see that some of that counter space had limited utility because it took the form of a little triangle behind the faucet.

I started ruminating on this situation as a problem that needed to be solved as I peeled sheets of old newspaper off my glassware and vases. After each piece was unwrapped, I unconsciously placed it behind the sink – just to get it out of the way.

Oh my God (or should I say OMG?), I thought, this is perfect! I love the look of the different shaped vases behind the very large stainless basin. With a bloom or two by the window, this will be a wonderful place to wash dishes or prepare meals. What initially appeared to be a problem became a focal point of charm in my new home. And to think, I discovered this by accident, by simply being aware of what the area looked like when I was unpacking.

Letting what is suggest what can be is no small thing.