What I’m learning about calm, joy and the home I want to build.
For Chelsea Powell, and my wonderful Wednesday community.
You know those spaces that just feel good, even when you can’t quite put your finger on why? You want to stay a little longer. Perhaps it’s the light, the proportions or a glimpse of green. I want to understand how those details come together—and build that feeling into my perfect house.
I’m very sensitive to stimulation, and I’m learning breathwork as a way to calm my nervous system. Harsh glare, competing sounds and visual clutter can feel jarring. When sensory input becomes overwhelming, it can trigger a stress response. I’m beginning to understand what helps me settle.
Learning to notice
Designing my own home makes me think differently about what I ask of clients. How do we explain what we need if we haven’t discovered it ourselves?
I’m starting with observation. Where do I choose to sit? What draws me outside? What am I tolerating simply because I’ve become used to it? Favourite journeys, childhood places and art I return to offer clues. For me, design begins with watching, listening and noticing what matters. A treasured object or a familiar story can open a conversation that a questionnaire misses.
And how do we know a space will feel good before it’s built? We can’t know completely, but we can mark out furniture at full size, handle material samples and walk through an ordinary day on the plan. Those small trials give intuition something practical to work with.
Light that follows the day
I want the first rays of light with my morning coffee and somewhere to enjoy the last rays in the evening. Window placement should make those daily rituals easy.
Light and darkness help set our circadian rhythms, which influence sleep and wakefulness. That gives me a clear intention: welcome daylight into the rooms we use during the day, then soften the lighting as bedtime approaches.
Dimmers and separate circuits would let me choose a warm pool of lamplight for reading. Curtains, blinds and well-placed shades would help manage glare and privacy. A calming home needs to offer control as well as atmosphere.
Softer shapes, colour and quiet
Curved geometry appeals to me: a rounded table, a gently curved opening, furniture with softer edges. I want those forms to work with the room’s proportions, leaving clear routes and places for the eye to rest. What feels good will be personal.
The Japanese concept of ma gives meaning to the spaces and pauses between things. At home, I imagine room around a favourite painting, a quiet corner, permission to leave some space unfilled.
Green belongs in my palette because I love it and associate it with nature. Rugs, curtains and upholstery can soften echoes. Storage would let me see the things I treasure without every unfinished task demanding my attention.
My Meghan Hildebrand painting captures that balance. I love its whimsy and especially that pop of bright green. The little creatures and imagined landscape invite a closer look; the pale spaces give the details room to breathe. I can imagine carrying that green onto our front door—a joyful connection between a painting I love and the house we build.
Painting by Meghan Hildebrand, from my own collection.
Nature within reach
I love to read, yet my brain seems to become still enough for it only when I’m away in nature. I imagine a comfortable seat with trees and sky in view, a sheltered place to read outside and doors that let family life spill into the garden. Losing myself in a book at home would be one sign that the design was working.
I’m drawn to shakkei, or borrowed scenery, used in Japanese gardens to bring the surrounding landscape into the composition. For my house, that suggests framing a tree or distant hill from a favourite chair.
Nature belongs in the materials too: timber, stone and natural fibres, chosen for touch and everyday use. Handcrafted things carry the pleasure of someone’s care and skill. Things built to last are good for the soul. I want pieces I can use, look after and grow older alongside.
A room of my own
At the moment, I work at the dining table and we end up squashed around the island to eat. Family meals matter to me, and the clutter gets under my skin. My perfect house would give work its own place.
I want an office with my favourite books, photographs and art, a door I can close and a bench long enough to lie down on for breathwork. My own little zen zone.
Feng shui, rooted in Chinese tradition, makes me curious about placement. Its commanding position suggests sitting where you can see the entrance without being directly in line with it. I’d like to try that with my desk, then notice how the arrangement feels in use.
In our current house, I’ve suggested the boys share a bedroom to free up an office. My husband and I disagree. I need to understand his concerns and give the boys a voice too. Everyone needs some authorship of the place we share.
The pleasure of gathering
Colour and music bring me joy, and hospitality design has taught me how a room can share that feeling. Comfortable seating, somewhere to put a drink and a layout that makes conversation easy invite people to linger. I want that generosity at home, with space for a long evening around the table to turn into dancing.
The quieter rooms need enough separation that someone can step away without ending the party. Doors, thoughtful room placement and acoustic insulation would give us that choice.
A cosy TV room for Friday Disney and movie nights with the boys, and Mario Kart with my husband, belongs in the brief too. So does a place to leave devices and step away from notifications. I would quite like to be able to switch off without first consulting a screen.
The perfect house, for me, will feel unmistakably ours. And I can already imagine the pleasure of coming home to that green front door.
On the reading table
Max Jacobson, Murray Silverstein and Barbara Winslow, Patterns of Home: The Ten Essentials of Enduring Design.
