Shifting Spaces

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The bookstore smells like fresh coffee, a blend that invites pause.

I move with small, deliberate adjustments—shifting my weight, using my walking poles to navigate the floor. Every step is a negotiation. I gauge the slight unevenness beneath my feet, the tables set just a little too close together, the throw rugs that catch at my poles, the tight spaces that require careful maneuvering.

The shelves hold a mix of neatly arranged and slightly askew books, nudged out of place by browsing hands. Soft voices weave through the air, accompanied by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Some people move through the space without a second thought, weaving easily between shelves and tables. Others take their time, adjusting with each step, aware of the small negotiations required to move comfortably.

At the counter, the cashier finishes with a customer, the last book slipping into a paper bag with the soft rustle of paper. She looks up, her gaze lingering just a moment longer than usual.

“I can help who’s next,” she calls, her voice carrying across the space.

A pause. Small, almost imperceptible, but I feel it. The line shifts—not in movement, but in awareness. A subtle realignment. The walls haven’t moved, but the room has changed.

“It’s me,” I say, stepping forward—without hesitation. The space adjusts, and for a moment, it fits.

The Unspoken Boundary

Accessibility isn’t just about renovations or redesigns. It’s about the details that shape how easily a space can be moved through, and whether it welcomes or creates barriers.

I think of a musician I know, whose performances stay with you long after the last note fades. Yet for her, each set carries an undercurrent of frustration. The stages are too cramped, the lighting never quite right. Worst of all, there are no railings. During long sets, she has nothing to steady herself, nowhere to lean when fatigue takes hold.

Each time she steps onto a stage, she scans her surroundings. She isn’t just taking in the crowd but assessing what will keep her steady. She notes the mic stand, the edge of a monitor—anything that offers a point of stability. Most wouldn’t think twice about these details. For her, they define the space.

She could have fought for accommodations and demanded change. Instead, she made a quiet decision: no rail, no gig. Not a protest—just a choice. She didn’t need to explain why. She simply refused to perform in spaces that didn’t account for her needs.

I think of another friend who faced a similar choice. He spent too many flights squeezed into tight seats, navigating narrow aisles, feeling like an afterthought in a system that never accounted for him. One day, he stopped accepting discomfort as the price of travel. He took control. A simple, direct message to the airline: this is what works for me. He wasn’t asking for permission to belong in the space. He was claiming it.

Both stories share a common thread: the refusal to disappear. No dramatic confrontations. No raised voices. Just an unspoken assertion of presence—a quiet but firm boundary.

The Empty Spaces

The power of these moments is in their subtleties. A glance. A shift in posture. A pause before stepping forward—small movements that change the shape of a room.

A space may feel full until you notice the gaps: the musician who doesn’t take the gig, the traveler who avoids the flight, the person who hesitates at the door. Once seen, those absences can’t be ignored.

The bookstore, for example, hasn’t changed. The shelves still lean with age, the aisles remain narrow, the scent of coffee lingers. Yet something is different. There’s a moment of tension, the kind that isn’t spoken but is felt. A brief stillness, like a song poised for its next note. Then, with a small shift, and it is gone. The space eases. The cashier looks up, our eyes meet. No hesitation. No glance away. She sees me.

A small moment, but it matters. Recognition, even unspoken, changes the room.

Redefining the Environment

Small adjustments—whether in a bookstore, on a stage, or in a crowded airport—reshape our surroundings. By stepping forward, setting boundaries, and holding firm, we change the spaces around us.

The world doesn’t always make room, but that does not mean space can’t be claimed. The gaps—the unfilled spaces—are reminders that even the smallest act has the power to create change.

Shifting with Purpose

There is power in the unspoken. The world may not always anticipate the needs of those who move through it, but that doesn’t mean those needs should be invisible.

Not every shift requires confrontation. Sometimes, it’s a quiet insistence—a steady presence that refuses to be overlooked. It is a small but certain claim to space, a quiet assertion that cannot be ignored. Because once space is claimed, once presence is acknowledged, the balance shifts, and the world begins to make room.