Furniture, but make it Existential

This is a story about rebuilding not just a home, but a sense of self.

About creating a version of yourself that’s entirely yours. Every inch, choice and detail. A blank space where, for once, nothing has been decided for you.

It brought back a story from Steve Jobs’ biography about his first Palo Alto home, a beautiful Spanish Colonial house with enormous windows and great light. It’s said the house remained that way for so long that guests would visit and say, “Steve, you really need furniture.” He’d just smile and reply, “I just haven’t found the right stuff yet.”
Very Steve of him.

Everything he owned, he chose deliberately. Purpose over impulse. It wasn’t about filling space. It was about meaning. About knowing why he wanted something before letting it belong in his world.

When I moved recently into my new home, I understood that for the first time.

The day I got my keys, I ordered takeout and sat on the floor in the middle of my empty living room. No furniture, no sound… just me, a bowl of noodles, and a kind of silence that felt like possibility.

Later, things began to fill in: a bed, a chair, a nightstand made of stacked books. But not quickly. I couldn’t just walk into a store and grab the first piece of furniture. I had to feel it out; see what fit, what belonged.

Weeks later, I found myself at IKEA, wandering through the build your own closet section. On the wall, a sign caught my eye: “We know you can do it on your own, but we’re here if you need us.” I don’t remember the exact wording, but the timing felt personal.

Because there I was.. Miss Independent—staring at a piece of corporate empathy printed on a wall, feeling unexpectedly seen. I try to tell myself not to place meaning onto every little thing I encounter, but it’s hard. I tend to see symbolism everywhere and I can pull a hundred interpretations from a single moment.

Still, sometimes the universe really does have a sense of humor. Or maybe it just brings the right people into focus when you need clarity most.

Someone whose presence I deeply value and who’s sharpness occasionally challenges mine, hinted that possibly this was’t just about furniture and maybe they were right. The way I’ve hesitated to finish furnishing it says more than I realized. it’s less about decoration and more about becoming. About knowing what feels right to bring into this new life and what no longer does.

Two months later, I finally finished furnishing my new place. This may sound strange, but I had photography ready to hang before I even had a sofa—the things that held meaning came first. Now, my home is complete except for one wall, where I’m placing a bookshelf that doesn’t try to be centered, just thoughtfully uneven, the way real life is. That’s the view I’ve chosen for myself: to sit across from what keeps me grounded and reminds me to stay curious.

Because in the end, it’s not really about furniture or material things at all. It’s about the intention behind them. The space now represents tranquility and a sense of order that quiets the restless mind living inside it. Every detail, whether it’s a set of books that changed my life, a photograph, a piece of art that spoke to me, or even the way the smallest details are deliberately arranged to feel calm, carries its own significance.

So next time you find yourself in that weird in between limbo we all rush to escape, pause and ask yourself:

What am I really filling this with?
Impulse, noise, distraction… or depth, intention, and truth?