For years—then all through COVID, and even until now—my music room was a comfortable nest of familiarity. Everything had settled into its place so completely that, at every turn, change felt insurmountable. My drum set sat planted in the same corner like an old tree. Every time I walked in to play, everything was exactly as I’d left it. Safe, but somehow stifling.

We’re often told that progress is the product of careful planning, step-by-step orderliness, and an unwavering commitment to structure. The desk should be neat, the calendar colorcoded, the to-do list checked off with precision. But life rarely happens so neatly—and even if it does, things can become stale or stagnant. Sometimes, in order to grow, we need to do something that feels backwards: we have to throw things out of order.

Order provides stability, but too much order can make us feel boxed in. When everything is predictable, patterns repeat themselves. We optimize for safety and comfort, but real progress often requires shaking things up.

Think about it. The rooms we live in for years—eventually, the arrangement becomes invisible. We stop asking if our furniture still suits us, or if we even like half the things we keep. The same pattern shows up in business routines, creative projects, and personal habits. We cling to “what works” until it stops working, and then we try to fix things by doubling down on the same old structure.

But sometimes the cure for stagnation isn’t reordering within the same frame—it’s tossing out the frame altogether.

Right now, I’m still in the thick of this process. It’s taking much longer than I expected, but I’m determined to see it through. The repercussions of reorganizing are already rumbling through the house as decisions get made and the overflow of items creates—and demands—attention.

It’s messy, and the disorder can be unnerving, but it’s necessary.

This process has freed up energy. It’s helped me recognize what I’ve outgrown and remember what still excites me. I can see new possibilities that I’d forgotten in the comfort of routine. I’m embracing the discomfort—chaos is loud, but it’s honest—and I’m challenging myself to rise to the occasion.

The next time you feel boxed in by your own order—whether in a music room or anywhere else—remember: progress doesn’t always begin by putting things in line. Sometimes, it begins when you pull everything out, start fresh, and let yourself discover a rhythm you never expected.