I Cleaned My Desk and Suddenly I’m a Functional Person (Kind Of)

There’s something uniquely unhinged about the moment your brain decides, “Yes. Right now. This exact hour. This is the time to completely tear apart your workspace, even though you’re technically supposed to be doing something else.” Like, say, prepping for a trip. Or finishing a planner redesign. Or working on literally any of the items on your list that don’t involve pulling wires from the wall and unscrewing your entire mounting system.

But logic has no jurisdiction here.

You see, I needed access to my MacBook. Real access. Not the kind where I yank it off the wall-mount like a reluctant Excalibur every time I want to run my Silhouette because the Bluetooth craps out when it's across the house. No, I needed ease. Fluidity. The luxury of treating my tech like a partner in crime instead of an awkward one-night stand.

Which meant: desk refresh.

Now, you’d think this would be a simple operation. Maybe a light surface wipe-down. A little cable management. Slide the MacBook into reach and get on with life. But no. You know me better than that.

This became a spiritual purge.

A sacred rite of passage.

A full-on rebirth of identity via office feng shui.

I moved EVERYTHING. Desk orientation, lighting, organizers, power strips. I pulled out pens I hadn’t seen since 2021. I found Post-its with notes written in a sleep-deprived panic that I’m almost certain were meant to change my life. I dusted things. With actual dusters. Like a Victorian governess preparing the guest wing.

And when it was done?

When the last cord was coiled and my MacBook sat in its new throne like a queen returning from exile?

I sat down and felt—dare I say it—functional.

Not in the “I now have my life together” kind of way. Please. Let’s not get wild.

But in the “my space doesn’t make me want to cry when I look at it” kind of way.

And honestly? That’s huge.

Because cleaning my desk wasn’t just about physical space. It was about permission. About reclaiming some weird, deeply buried belief that I only deserved order if I earned it. That I had to hustle to deserve beauty. That chaos was proof I was trying hard enough.

But here’s the thing—chaos is exhausting.

And maybe I don’t need to earn the right to sit at a clean, well-lit desk with tech that actually functions.

Maybe I deserve ease because I'm a human being trying to survive a Wednesday.

Now, will this functional feeling last forever?

Of course not. Give it a week.

The camera roll will bloat.  The planner will become an archive of good intentions.  The cables will tangle again and a ferret will probably steal a flash drive.

But for now?  For this brief, glimmering moment?  I cleaned my desk and suddenly I’m a little more grounded.  A little more capable.

A little less likely to spiral into a stress-fueled Pinterest binge.

It’s not just a desk.

It’s a reset button I can sit inside.

And sometimes, that’s enough to keep me going.