Boxes and Bridges
How Moving House Is Strangely Like Writing a Song
Sorry for the unusual short delay, but we moved!
WE MOVED!
And apart from not knowing where everything is, including my computer, there’s a particular moment on moving day that every songwriter will understand — that feeling when you’ve finally set up your beautiful writing workstation, you’re ready to get to work… and then someone arrives with a dozen boxes that don’t belong to anyone else, so naturally, they get dumped in your room.
As I sit here in our new house, typing this with half a desk and double the mess, I realize: moving house is actually a lot like writing songs. And not just in the poetic sense. In the boxes-everywhere, where’s-my-keyboard, who-packed-this sense.
Let me explain.
How Moving House Is Strangely Like Writing a Song
1. It All Starts With Chaos
When you begin writing a song, you often start with pieces. Fragments. A title idea. A line that came to you on a walk. A chord progression you recorded in a voice memo at midnight. All of it scattered, unorganized, and not yet shaped.
Moving is no different. You begin with good intentions, and then the movers arrive. They whisk everything away into boxes, bless them — but unless you packed it yourself, you have no idea where anything is.
My lovely solar-powered keyboard? Last seen on the drawing room table. Now? Missing in action. Probably under a pile of winter coats in a box labelled “Misc.”
Songwriting, too, can feel like that — you know you had something brilliant. But where did you put it? That’s why I have an Idea Bank. But anything can make songwriting less like moving house.
2. Label Your Boxes (and Your Ideas)
A lesson for both moving and songwriting: label everything.
In moving, this is obvious. “Kitchen – mugs,” “Bedroom – linens,” “Studio – vital creative equipment not to be lost under shoes.” In songwriting, it’s about clearly labelling your song sections and ideas as you go: Verse 1 theme. Emotional pivot. Potential chorus line. Don’t just throw it all in a notebook and hope future-you can decipher it.
One of the biggest favors you can do for yourself as a writer is to leave breadcrumbs. Trust me, it’ll make the unpacking (or rewriting) so much easier.
3. Every Room Needs a Purpose
In a new house, you often discover items that don’t quite belong anywhere. So they get thrown into “that” room — the one no one owns up to but everyone sneaks stuff into.
Songs have those moments too — lines that don’t quite fit. Ideas that are clever but derail the mood. Verses that say too much or not enough. If you’re not careful, your bridge becomes a storage unit for all the lyrical clutter that didn’t fit in the verses or chorus.
So, whether you’re arranging a home or arranging a hook, give every line (or lamp) a place where it makes sense — or leave it out until it’s got one.
4. What You Thought Was Lost… Turns Up Later
When you’re knee-deep in moving boxes, you resign yourself to the fact that you may never see your charger, passport, or keyboard again. But then, two weeks later, you open a box marked “Spare bedding” and there it is, sandwiched between a candle and a breadboard.
The same magic can happen in songwriting. That chorus that wasn’t working last month? It clicks suddenly while you’re making tea. That lyric you scrapped? Turns out it’s perfect for a new idea. Nothing’s ever truly wasted — it just needs the right moment to be found again.
5. Eventually, It Starts to Feel Like Home
The first few nights in a new place feel unfamiliar. Nothing smells right. The light falls differently. You wake up not knowing where the bathroom is.
Songs are like that, too. You might not love the first demo. It might not feel like “you” yet. But after a few edits, a few tweaks to the arrangement, a little time? You find your feet. Your confidence. Your voice.
And just like a house, a song becomes yours when you’ve lived in it a little.
In Summary
So here I am, fingers crossed I’ll find everything I need before heading to France on holiday. And yes, I’m packing again, but this time I’m packing up myself. But even in the uncertainty of moving, there’s a strange comfort in the mess — it reminds me of the creative journey. The blank page. The first chord. The mystery box of lyrics, I think I wrote last year.
Whether you’re unpacking in a new home or piecing together a new hook, just remember: it might feel disorganized now, but something beautiful is taking shape.
Hope this helps!
Simon.