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Sometimes, I find myself reflecting on what I thought constituted the very first home that I personally tried to “improve,” and I actually shudder a little bit, not because what I did wasn't bad, but because I realized that I actually knew absolutely nothing about what actually matters. I thought throw pillows could change my life.
I could go around everywhere with color samples and get worked up about minute detail decoration while completely disregarding what kind of air I breathed and what tap water tasted like. There actually came a point when someone told me to maybe inquire about Water Filters Adelaide. I nodded as if I understood what wisdom I heard but immediately forgot about it. Unfortunately, I remained at that level, where you think design is what you can see.
Now that I think about it, yeah, maybe I can relate to this clueless kind of confidence. This is like, well, you can't necessarily put your finger on what “the feeling” is about until you've actually put yourself into this very orchestrated environment that's like, itchy? Unsettled? Like the air got tired, kind of? Hard to put your finger on, but once you've actually noticed it, you can't ignore it.
Where I Finally Learned What Really Determines Calmness (And To Be Honest, I Wish This Had Happened Earlier)
The lesson didn't come to us with much fanfare. More like an accumulation of annoying little problems: water residue left on everything, a corner of our living room being warmer than other places, and a smell that stunk of moisture whenever there wasn't any trace of water to be found. It almost seemed like these could all just be solved with something added to the environment. A lamp, a throw there. Nothing worked. Then, out of pure exasperation, we returned to Water Filters Adelaide. That is, they understood that filtration is not some kind of luxury but is actually a need. Just like how you brush your teeth prior to being concerned about whitening strips.
Water is involved in more things than I realized. I guess I just didn't realize how much because water is just, well, you know, water, you wouldn't necessarily think it's capable of much hang-around activity. Then you take a glassful of this filtered water, which is clean and neutral and almost “light,” if you know what I mean, and you realize how leaden the old water tasted. Then you notice that the fixtures aren't clogging up any more. The kettle doesn't rave at you like it's about to go off its top any second. Boiling is a whole different story when it comes to ambiance. It's almost like the whole house is less disgruntled.
Then there is air. As much as air didn't register with me until I realized I lived somewhere where air conditioning units kicked on loud enough to shock the scare out of me each cycle, blowing air like it's making a point but blowing said air halfway across the room while leaving the other half out, that is what homes do, which is what I've learned: homes will rat you out. A bad air flow impact is something you can feel on skin and attitude long before you link the puzzle pieces.
This thing about indoor environmental health from the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, it just appeared while I was doom-scrolling one night, said indoor air quality can affect stress, sleep, and decision-making. Well, I raised an eyebrow about that when I saw it, but putting it into perspective? Oh, absolutely makes sense. Can't chill if you've got to keep adjusting to your environment.
Nothing needs to work flawlessly. They just need to stop being an obstacle to you.
The Baffling Ways All Things Are Connected Once You See Them
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I guess I just didn't know what to be surprised about when I saw that water, air, temperature, and, indeed, light are each affected by and affect each other. They just didn't. For a long time, I just thought each of these is a separate issue, issues with water are plumbing issues, issues with air are heating/AC issues, lighting is a décor issue.
They aren’t because they constantly affect each other. The impact of having hard water is that your fixtures will deteriorate faster, which can impact how your room feels without having to rearrange any décor. Sometimes your air is just not circulating well, which can result in your humidity being trapped in odd places. The smell can seep into your furniture faster.
Lighting, my biggest blind spot this year, either neutralizes a room or reveals flaws. Lighting is something that, at one point, I thought about making a pretty design choice. The thing is, there is something very emotive about light. Soft daylight in one corner of a room can make it look like a disaster zone until you take your first cup of coffee. Hard daylight when you go to bed can make you feel like you can't go to sleep without a reason. Soft and warm light can make a half-finished room feel like home.
One of these searches led to this rabbit hole via Terri Steffes’ blog, while searching for something entirely different. The writing about how to “build atmosphere” out of air movement and light, this simple thing is written about in such a way that I thought, “This is how I could have been doing this better ten years ago.” A home is more peaceful when these things stop arguing with each other. Then there are lessons that may come late, but they will come, lessons that may not relate to us but can relate to our children, and lessons that have been almost but not quite solely cosmetic.
The intangible aspects are what make all the difference between blowing out air when you come in and just feeling like you are a tiny bit off immediately. Homes have memories. The homes that have been well thought out somehow manage to compensate. The homes that have been haphazardly thrown together somehow pick up odd quirks, pockets of heat, odd smells, odd tastes of water at any given time.
Late Lessons Learned
Sometimes I think what building a healthy home is like is like turning on a dimmer switch - increments, small increments, until it feels like we've reached equilibrium. Not excellence. Not endless improvement. Just tweak. I thought I just had to work a little bit harder to build a home that is peaceful. More structure, more tidiness, more routine. That is, until I realized that no, peacefulness isn’t about working a little bit harder, it’s about how much is what the house is willing to cooperate with you on. Purified water. Quiet air flow. Light that doesn't make you jump, that doesn't make you recoil.
These are what make life easy, what ease out friction. Friction is what wears you out, what makes you more tired, not disarray. The thing is, I still find myself falling into those old habits. I can start to look at design ideas and remember this about this baseline standard. Then something completely frivolous will trigger a memory – Hey, wait, I remember I saw that I couldn't quite stretch to scale up that kettle, and it didn't feel like it weighs more after a humid day. It’s not very glamorous work, but this is how comfort is actually layered upon. And everything else, pillows, candles, colors, it’s better off left on this level.
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