In March this year, weeks before expecting my first baby, my husband and I moved to a larger apartment in Brooklyn. With no time to stock up, we arrived at our new home with the bare minimum: two plates; a handful of mismatched cutlery; a small bag of clothes that still fitted my expanding belly.
Within days of moving, however, I found myself with more energy than I had ever had in our old, cluttered, stuffed-to-the brim flat. In my skeletal cupboards was a newfound freedom – the freedom to relieve my brain of unnecessary, small decisions: what to wear, which glass to use, which pan to cook in. Ultimately, I was diminishing the tyranny of too much choice, and competing distractions, so I
