My dining room may never be the same. The Ikea table and vintage fiberglass chairs have been pushed aside. The perimeter is traced with dangling cords, precariously connecting a constellation of hastily tape-mounted laser trackers. A glowing PC is the room’s new focal point. My toddler is unsettled by the alien’s neon eyes .

But it’s all worth it, to carve out a patch of open land in my cramped condo where I can put on the HTC Vive, grab two motion controllers, and experience the most advanced incarnation of virtual reality on the market today. Six years after the iPad came out, we’re still debating whether or not you can actually make things with it. But I hand the app Tilt Brush–imagine Microsoft Paint in 3-D space–to my wife for the first time. And within minutes, she’s crafted a flowing, rainbow dress in midair.

RingGrub by Issac Cohen Isaac Cohen/cabbibo.is

I know, this sounds totally insufferable. But you–casual, budding, or established designer–should do whatever you have to do to try an HTC Vive, too. Because it’s not actually flying around in space or watching whales at the bottom of the ocean that makes VR incredible. It’s that in this second reality, digital experiences don’t just seem physical–they feel physical. The fourth wall of your monitor is gone.

Inside this space, creating content is as exciting as consuming it. And design will never be the same because of that. Here’s why.

Tilt Brush Google

The sensation of creating in virtual reality is nothing short of godlike the first time you try it. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you can literally draw in glowing light, burning fire, or shimmering stars. But it’s gutturally remarkable because you can walk around the room, viewing these creations from any angle–even crouching down or moving your nose just inches away–and your mind accepts them as real. Or, real enough.

You’ll never actually forget that there’s a 1.2 lb pair of goggles on your head, nor will you be able to ignore the omnipresent pixels that rewind graphics fidelity to about a decade into the past. Yet as I step through different spaces, from a N.Y.C. subway car to an Ikea kitchen to a warlock’s den (look, VR is early, and my choices are limited, okay?), my gut believes that I can bump into the pole, or the waist-high tables in front of me.

Ikea

And so I find myself sometimes inching my steps or sucking in my tummy to navigate a virtual space. At one point, I force myself to walk into the sink of my Ikea kitchen, just to remind myself that I can. My heart dropped for a moment, but I lived.