in a new space

Photo by Plato Terentev on Pexels

the light switch in the bathroom
is kind of in the wrong place
so the switch gets a little covered
by the towel…
it’s the little things like this that you
notice in a new space, how it’s
a different kind of faucet,
so you gotta turn it like so…
the balance of cold and hot
in the shower takes a little
learned finesse — 
you’re out of sorts at first
in a new place, adjusting
to a new version of reality,
a new hub, a new extension
of who you are..
I take my glasses off to sleep
at night and I’ve gotten
good at getting up to pee
without them, but when
the layout is a total novelty,
you can’t go out there,
rolling out of bed naked
and blind and expect to find
the bowl and piss without
tripping over yourself
on the way there
or stubbing your toe
somewhere…
the lighting is all different too,
so you gotta figure that out,
the right combination
of bright and shade…
the outlets are all in weird places,
the window is bigger
and the blinds are something — 
the fridge has a stranger’s hum
anyway, all I’m trying to say is
I’ll get there

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Garbage Notes:

It’s a little over a year ago now since I moved into a new apartment. And I remember feeling all the awkward newness of the layout and trying to get used to where everything was. I’m not the kind of person who adapts quickly to change. It really throws off my entire homeostasis for a while.

I remember it wasn’t so much big things that caused frustration. It was little things like where the light switches are, or how to navigate from the bed to the bathroom in the middle of the night when you’re as blind as a bat like me and you don’t feel like putting your glasses on just to take a piss. I usually feel my way to the toilet in the dark, and I can’t tell you how many times I stubbed my toe or tripped on something I wasn’t expecting to be there.

Lighting is also hard. Figuring out where to put the lamps, and how to get just the right ambient glow that’s good for both reading and writing, but also easy and convenient for when you just want to watch TV or take a nap. Oh, and where to put the TV and the game consoles and the internet router. Where to plug everything in.

So many tiny little decisions when you finally move into a new place. When I wrote this poem, I remember I was really feeling out of sorts.

We had just gotten a new couch too. And I actually do a lot of my typing on the couch instead of my desk. So my back and my butt were totally in for an adjustment period too.

The fridge sounded weird and the blinds were kind of different. There were so many little quirks that stood out a year ago that have now faded into the background of life.

Human beings are capable of adjusting to anything. We can endure immense change, and still carry on and thrive. As a species, we are no strangers to wandering about and making a home in less than ideal circumstances.

Being nomadic is not something entirely alien to us. It’s in our history, it’s in our DNA, and there’s also an excitement that comes with starting a new chapter.

There’s a sense of accomplishment we get when turning a barren cave into a cozy residence. And I think even though I was having a hard time a year ago figuring out how to be comfortable in this new place, I’ve come to understand no place is going to be perfect, especially not at first.

It’s more about how you choose to see things over time. How you come to love the place you’re in and enjoy your space with the people you love through every cycle of life.

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Franco Amati 2025

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