Happy November: On Change, Cardboard Boxes, and Growing Anew

November has always felt like a gentle exhale. A soft invitation to slow down, breathe, and look back at how far we have come. But this year, November showed up with a moving truck in the driveway and packing tape stuck to my elbow. Again.

Yes, we moved. Again. At this point, I have lost count. I may start introducing myself by saying, “Hi, I’m the girl who knows where to get cardboard boxes in any city.” It is a talent. It is a lifestyle. It is also mildly exhausting.

This move was unexpected and overwhelming. The kind of move where you find yourself sitting on the floor surrounded by half-filled boxes, wondering how one household could possibly own so many mismatched containers and lost socks. You begin to believe the socks multiply when you are not looking. There is no scientific proof of this, but I am certain it is true.

But somewhere in the chaos of bubble wrap and Sharpie labels, something beautiful unfolded.

Packing a house always turns into a mirror. Every drawer you open reflects back a version of yourself. The one who bought the sentimental candle. The one who kept the birthday card for way too long. The one who swore you were going to take up painting. The one who really thought you needed six different spatulas. Why? We do not know.

It is funny how reorganizing your home becomes reorganizing your heart. You start placing things in piles. Keep. Donate. Let go. And without even planning to, you do the same inside.

You begin to see how parenting has changed you. How relationships have softened, strengthened, or changed you. How your career has stretched you. How your outlook on life has shifted from urgency to presence. You become gently aware that every chapter did have purpose, even the ones that felt confusing while you were in them.

Moving is such a physical lesson in allowing change.

You cannot cling to everything. You cannot bring every single thing along. Some things must be released for space to open. Some things must be carried with more care. And some things must be celebrated for the role they played and then lovingly set down.

Then, there is a moment in every move where the house is empty. No furniture. No decorations. Just quiet echoes and sunlight on bare floors. It feels a little sad and a little holy. Because that emptiness is proof that life is not meant to stay still. We are all continually being prepared for the next season, even when we cannot see it yet.

And now, I find myself in a new space. Rearranging furniture and thoughts. Hanging curtains and hopes. Sweeping floors and clearing emotional dust bunnies I did not know were there.

November arrives with that same invitation. Slow down. Notice. Breathe. Let gratitude meet you where you are.

Whether you are building a home, rebuilding yourself, navigating parenthood, redefining relationships, pursuing your career, or shifting your outlook on life, trust that change is not happening to you. It is happening for you. It is opening room for peace to enter.

Growth requires movement. Sometimes literally, apparently.

So here is to another chapter. Another address. Another chance.

And if you need help labeling your boxes, I recommend: Important, Less Important, and What Even Is This?

It works for homes and for life.

Happy November, friend. May this month meet you softly and prepare you beautifully for what comes next.

🧡🍂✨