A Run and a Plan
Morning came faster than I expected.
Sunlight poured through the bare windows, bright enough to wake me before my alarm ever had the chance. For a few seconds I just lay there on the sleeping bag, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling while my brain slowly caught up with reality.
Right.
The bungalow.
I pushed myself up and looked around the room.
Four boxes.
That was it.
Four slightly sad-looking boxes containing my entire life at the moment — clothes, shoes, and a few bathroom bits I’d grabbed before leaving.
No furniture.
No curtains.
No comfort.
Just empty rooms and a wallpaper pattern that was somehow even worse in daylight.
I sat there for a moment, running a hand through my hair.
The house suddenly felt… big.
Bigger than it had last night.
And the list of things I needed to do was already forming in my head.
- Paint.
- Wallpaper removal.
- Furniture.
- Lighting.
- Budget.
So many decisions.
Too many decisions.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself. “Brain needs coffee… and oxygen.”
Which meant one thing.
A run.
The morning air was crisp when I stepped outside, cool enough to wake me up instantly.
Running had always been my way of clearing my head — letting my thoughts settle into something that actually made sense instead of spiralling into a thousand tiny worries.
I started down the street at an easy pace, taking in the neighbourhood properly for the first time.
The town felt quiet but alive in that gentle morning way.
A couple of people walking dogs.
A car pulling slowly out of a driveway.
The distant sound of someone mowing a lawn somewhere down the road.
It wasn’t busy.
But it wasn’t sleepy either.
It felt… comfortable.
As I ran further into town, the streets slowly became more familiar.
Small shops.
Local cafés.
A little bookstore that immediately caught my attention — the kind with window displays full of paperbacks and handwritten staff recommendations.
I made a mental note to come back.
But the real surprise came when I turned the corner onto the main street.
There it was.
A bright green sign that made me laugh out loud.
Starbucks.
In a town this small.
“Well, that’s convenient,” I said under my breath.
By the time I stepped inside, my run had done exactly what it always did — shaken the fog out of my brain and made everything feel a little more manageable.
I ordered a drink, leaning against the counter while I waited.
Something about seeing a familiar chain store in a new place made the town feel instantly less intimidating. Like there was a tiny piece of the outside world tucked neatly into this quiet little community.
Cup finally in hand, I stepped back outside and took a long sip.
Okay.
Now I could think.
By the time I walked back toward the bungalow, the beginnings of a plan were forming in my head.
Not a perfect plan.
But a starting point.
The house didn’t need to be finished all at once.
It just needed a direction.
When I stepped back inside, the empty rooms didn’t feel quite as overwhelming anymore.
They felt like possibilities.
I set my drink down on the floor and opened one of the boxes, pulling out the design board I’d brought with me.
If I was going to turn this place into a home, I needed somewhere to start.
Mood.
Style.
Colour.
Ideas.
I set the board up against the wall and stepped back, already picturing the first pieces going up.
“Okay,” I said to the empty room with a small smile.
“Let’s make a plan.”
I stared at the empty board for a moment longer than I probably needed to.
It felt oddly intimidating.
A blank board.
A blank house.
A blank start.
I took another sip of my drink and paced slowly across the living room floor, looking around properly this time — not at what the house was, but at what it could be.
The bedroom could wait.
The spare room definitely wasn’t urgent.
But the living room…
That felt like the heart of the house.
If I could make this room feel right, the rest of the place might start feeling like home too.
I walked back to the board and picked up the first sample piece, pinning it into place.
Neutral tones.
Soft textures.
Nothing too overwhelming.
Something calm.
Something warm.
I stepped back again and looked between the board and the empty living room walls.
For the first time since arriving, the house didn’t feel like an overwhelming project.
It felt like a puzzle.
And I had just placed the first piece.
Between the Pages & Pixels 