Don’t Let The Chaos Bury You

Be present, don't carry it all alone, and accept that control is a big ol' illusion.

Moving homes sucks.

Even if you’re heading to a great place, does anyone ever really enjoy the process?

I thought this time would be easier. After all, two and a half years ago, I moved clear across the country. Surely, moving 15 minutes away couldn’t be that bad.

Only it turns out even a short move comes with its own brand of stress, chaos, and unexpected aggravation.

As I juggled the overwhelming to-do list (scheduling affordable movers, transferring utilities, frantically ordering more packing supplies), I couldn’t help but notice a familiar pattern. Somewhere between the bubble wrap and endless decisions, it hit me: moving wasn’t just hair-pulling logistics. It was an unexpected mirror for my writing life.

The unexpected mirror

Moving homes always has a way of getting more complicated than you expect.

Coordinating with my old and new landlords felt like herding cats—plans constantly shifting, nothing quite lining up. No matter how many packing supplies I bought, I kept recalculating in my head, obsessively wondering if I’d misjudged what I’d need. Deadlines loomed, and the weight of the entire move pressed down on me.

I knew I could ask for help, but I didn’t. I told myself I should be able to handle it all on my own.

Does any of this sound familiar? I certainly see parallels as I chase my writing goals.

It’s easy to pile on expectations: finish the draft by this date, fix every plot hole, polish every sentence. How many of us convince ourselves that if we just work harder, we can keep control? But the more we try to take it all on ourselves, and the stronger we try to be, the more alone and fragile we feel.

Writing, like packing up an apartment, can turn into an isolating struggle. The weight of the task, paradoxically, feels too heavy to share with anyone. I found myself insisting, I should be able to do this alone, even as the walls felt like they were closing in.

None of this is that big of a deal

Then there was the nagging anxiety about my security deposit.

I found myself fixating on every tiny imperfection in the apartment. Would they charge me for the sun-bleached outline from my area rug? Would they care about the nick in the shower drain or the chipped paint near the front door? I replayed scenarios in my mind, convinced each tiny flaw might cost me.

When I was stuck in that miasma of worry, I tried to remind myself: in the long run, none of this is that big of a deal. And no matter how hard I try to control every detail, I can’t guarantee the outcome.

Whether I scrubbed a little harder or spent hours touching up paint, the decision wasn’t fully in my hands. I had to stop acting like I was.

The same is true of writing.

No matter how meticulous you are, it’s impossible to control how your writing will land. Will a reader skim over the line you agonized over? Will an editor catch the typo you missed? Will your story resonate the way you intended, or miss the mark entirely?

You can polish and perfect all you want, but at some point, you have to let go. Trust that it’s enough. And recognize that, in the grand scheme of things—whether it’s a missed smudge on the wall or a clunky sentence—it’s not that big of a deal.

Springtime and the power of presence

Of course I ended up moving in May, my favourite month of the year.

Springtime is when the world seems to stretch and breathe again. The trees are budding, the days get noticeably longer, and the smothering summer heat hasn’t arrived yet. I wanted to be outside, soaking in the fresh air and the soft sunshine.

Instead, I felt trapped inside my chaotic apartment, caught in a maze of boxes, tape, and dust bunnies. It didn’t seem possible to step away and let myself enjoy springtime, even for short breaks between packing sessions.

This struggle, too, is common in the writing journey. There are so many moments when I develop tunnel vision and start to languish in the hard, messy middle (the revisions, the doubts, the grind).

But writing is undoubtedly richer and more rewarding when you’re fully present in it. Sometimes, this means exhaling and realizing you don’t have to let the struggle in one part of your life overtake the rest of it.

Getting the journey right (or at least making it regret-free) means not letting the details consume you. It means not letting your stress about packing or plot holes rob you of the joy you can find in the process. Cultivating presence, whether in the middle of a move or a manuscript, means:

• Noticing what truly matters (and what your mind is trying to blow out of proportion)

• Remembering that the goal is forward momentum, not perfection

• Savouring small wins and moments of joy along the way

• Finding clarity in the chaos

Being present doesn’t make the mess disappear, but it does make it manageable—and even, at times, meaningful.

Carrying forward what matters

Packing up my apartment taught me that letting go isn’t just about clearing space.

It’s about surrendering the control I thought I needed over every detail. Whether it’s choosing what to pack into a moving box or deciding what to keep in a draft, the truth is not everything has to be perfect or final. Some things, like old coffee mugs or clunky paragraphs, simply aren’t meant to be carried forward.

Writing, like moving, is messy, unpredictable, and often a little chaotic. But both are really about learning to let go.

To carry forward only what matters.

To channel messiness into something beautiful.

To ask for help when we need it.

To stay present and find joy, no matter the circumstances.

To trust that, even when things aren’t perfectly packed or polished, what we’ve prepared is enough to move us into the next chapter.