If there’s one habit of mine that’s as consistent as the sunrise, it’s this: I can’t stop rearranging my living space. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember—pushing furniture across floors, dragging plants from one corner to another, flipping the room until the energy feels right again. The feeling starts as a small pull, an uneasiness, almost like something invisible has gotten stuck, and it’s my job to get it flowing again. It’s not about aesthetics. It’s about energy. I don’t care how good a space looks on the outside—if it doesn’t feel right, if the vibe isn’t flowing, I’ll tear it apart and start from scratch.
I’ve tried to explain this to people before, and their reactions are usually somewhere between polite confusion and straight-up disbelief. “Didn’t you just rearrange your office?” Yes. Yes, I did. And you know what? It was perfect—then it wasn’t. I can’t explain why. Maybe it’s my ADD whispering in my ear, telling me to change things up because I can’t sit still. Maybe it’s the OCD side of me needing everything to line up in a way that makes sense to my brain. Or maybe—and this is the explanation I lean toward the most—it’s my empathic nature. I can feel when the energy gets heavy, like the air itself has gone stale. The vibe stops flowing. It starts pressing against me, dragging me down, and I know it’s time to fix it.
Right now, my office is my sanctuary. I spend more time here than anywhere else, and it’s taken a lot of trial and error to make it mine. I’ve got this big, executive wooden desk that makes me feel like I could run a Fortune 500 company if I wanted to. A matching wooden chair with just the right amount of creak to make it feel substantial. Three ottomans because—honestly, I don’t even know why. I just like them. There are palm trees in the corners, mirrors that bounce the light around, and windows that remind me I’m not trapped inside. I’ve got mood lighting to set whatever tone the day calls for, a painting that grounds me, and yes—a lava lamp. Don’t laugh. If you’ve never sat in a dimly lit room and watched the goo inside a lava lamp drift around like it’s got nowhere better to be, you’re missing out.
For a while, the space felt perfect. Peaceful. I’d sit here to work, offering my psychic readings online, and it felt like the energy was just pouring out of me, like I was in the exact right place at the exact right time. But here’s the thing about peace—it doesn’t sit still. It changes. It flows. And right now, I feel it getting stuck again. So, naturally, I’m rearranging. This time, I’m bringing in a leather futon. I need a place to take a damn nap.
Look, I’m 38 years old now. I turned 38 this past October, and my body is starting to let me know that I’m not invincible. There are days when I hit this midday slump where my eyelids feel heavier than bricks, and all I want is 20 minutes of unconsciousness to hit reset. But here’s the catch: my dogs. God bless them, but they do not understand the concept of “just a nap.” The second I lay down on my bed, they think it’s game over. They jump on me, pile around me, and settle in like we’re all turning in for the night. It takes two hours for them to calm down, and by that time, the idea of a quick nap has turned into an unplanned siesta that leaves me groggy for the rest of the day.
Caffeine doesn’t help. I swear to God, coffee has the opposite effect on me. I could chug an entire pot of espresso, and you’d find me snoring 15 minutes later. I know I need to eat better. I know I need to move my body more, get back to exercising, and take better care of myself. I’m still adapting to all of the changes I’ve made this year, and some days, it feels like I’m navigating unfamiliar territory without a map. Some days are easy. Some days aren’t. And on the hard days, I think about picking up a drink again just to quiet my nerves. But I don’t. I remember how hard I worked to stop drinking. I think about the life I’ve built since I let that part of me go, and I refuse to go back.
This year has been one of the biggest of my life. I dropped the alias I used for so long—Demetri Welsh—and started living as myself, Derrick Solano, completely and unapologetically. That was a massive shift, and I still get butterflies when I think about it. I gave readings under that name for years, and it was my armor when I wasn’t ready to be seen for who I really was. But now? Now, I don’t need the armor. I don’t need to hide. I get to show up as myself, fully aligned, and there’s a freedom in that that I can’t even put into words.
So maybe that’s what all the rearranging is about. Maybe it’s me trying to create a space that reflects the new version of me—a version that’s not hiding, not shrinking, not apologizing for taking up space. It’s not about perfection. It’s not about making the room look pretty. It’s about energy. It’s about flow. It’s about creating a space where I can sit down, breathe, and feel at home in every sense of the word. And if that means dragging in a futon so I can sneak a nap between readings, then that’s what I’m going to do.
I don’t know what 2025 is going to bring, but I do know this: I’m ready for it. I’ve worked too hard, survived too much, and come too far to stop now. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life is constantly shifting, constantly evolving, and you have to be willing to shift with it. Rearrange the room. Change the vibe. Do whatever it takes to keep the energy flowing. Because peace isn’t something you find—it’s something you create.
Until the next random journal entry, take care of yourselves. And if the energy in your life feels stuck, don’t be afraid to move the furniture. You’d be amazed what a lava lamp can do.