I flit around the room, moving from one side to the other, trying to convince myself that I am in fact cleaning, rather than just taking a glorified trip down memory lane.
But as I began to shift books slightly, finally throw out that old packaging that was buried in my bag, return my headbands to the rightful location, and move my backpack into my closet, I feel better.
I feel better in part because this is something to check off my to-do list, but also because this is something that makes my space feel more like me. It enables me to remember why I kept that hockey game ticket stub, what I was doing when I left my markers, and how on earth that old card resurfaced.
It is peace and it is chaos, both mutually existing with equally valuable locations on my shelves.