Redecorating & Refreshing: A Mindset
Written By : Hannah Corbett
I don’t feel settled if my house isn’t dressed up. And by “dressed up,” I don’t mean anything crazy—I'm talking about the color paint on the walls, the placement of the furniture, the decor, the accents, the lighting, the lamps! Don't even get me started on the lamps, I have way too many, but each one is doing something. They set a mood, anchor a moment, and remind me that my space is mine.
This isn’t anything new.
I’ve been moving my room around since I was a little girl, excited to show my parents how I’d dragged a dresser across the room at the age of seven with sheer determination and zero upper body strength.
For me, rearranging was never just about aesthetics. It was about a new beginning. A shift. A way to mark time passing.
Sometimes I remember moments in my life by the way my room was arranged—where my bed sat under the window that one summer, or how I pushed my desk into storage as a personal ritual for the start of vacation.
That’s how I knew it was summer
the desk disappeared, the bean bag came out, and the decor changed to match the season. It was a transformation, and it always felt like a breath of fresh air.
Now I’m twenty five, and not much has changed—except now I live with my boyfriend, who jokes that he walks into a new house every other week. He’s not wrong. But it’s not because I’m bored or restless or spiraling into some chaotic creative meltdown. It’s because when my space feels off, I feel off. When the desk is in the wrong corner or the lighting is too harsh, I feel uninspired. And when I’m uninspired, I don’t want to work. And when you work from home, that’s kind of a problem.
The days are not gone, of finding myself pulled into a goodwill or antique shop, scrolling on Facebook Marketplace and landing across something ever so me — That I just HAVE to have it. And the perk of hand-me-down furniture is nothing compared to the finds at CB2. A rattan magazine holder that now sits beside my tv console, an aged wooden wall sconce that my candle sits on. Which is hung on the wall right next to the $19 full length mirror from goodwill that looked like it just jumped out of a pottery barn catalog. These are things that could have cost me a lung and a kidney, but instead, I'm like a kid in a candy shop, grinning ear to ear because they were a total steal.
And then comes the fun part: figuring out where they belong.
Before we moved into this house, I would sketch the floor plan by hand, mapping out my dream layout on paper. But real life doesn’t stay on paper. The living room alone has been rearranged four times—and it’s finally in my favorite setup yet. For now, at least.
Interior design has become more than just a quirk or a habit—it’s a real passion of mine.
I spend an unhealthy amount of time on Pinterest and combing through old J.Crew and Ralph Lauren catalogs, swooning over English-inspired coziness and East Coast elegance.
I’ve always been obsessed with the homes in Nancy Meyers movies—the way they’re lived in, loved in, a character in their own right. That’s all I want my space to feel like.
A soft place to land at the end of a long day.
Somewhere beautiful and comforting that also reflects my life.
There’s magic in the little things. The ambient glow of a lamp at dusk. The texture of a knit blanket draped over the couch. The quiet transformation of a space that signals a new season, a fresh start, a different rhythm.
Some people measure time by calendars. I measure it by furniture layouts.