the geography of who we are
The other day, I watched a video where an architect maintained that improving the design of a specific bureaucratic office would make the employees of that office less cranky. He said this in a vaguely tongue-in-cheek way, but I think he was serious — and I think he’s right. I believe that our surroundings can profoundly affect the way we move in the world and our outlook on the world, in ways that I don’t think the world fully understands.
A personal example: for decades, I was terrified of going to the dentist, until I found one whose entire office was designed for the dentist-phobic. His office wasn’t in a shiny glass building; instead, it was in a tiny bungalow in a residential neighbourhood. His waiting room was in the living room, complete with art and interesting books in a bookcase and a working fireplace and even a glass of port to calm your nerves, if you felt like you needed it. His examination rooms and dentist chairs were in bedrooms — again, with art on the walls, and, get this: if you were cold, his assistant would bring a warm blanket fresh from the dryer and tuck you in. The design of his office was so thoughtful that now, years later, I’m not nearly as afraid of the dentist anymore. I don’t love the experience, you understand, but I’m no longer a person who is crippled by the thought of a dentist’s office. In fact, I’m now a person who goes frequently (albeit with a pretty well-curated, calm-inducing playlist).
Honestly, I’ve always been like this. When I was a kid, I would constantly rearrange my room, trying to create a space that felt comfortable for my ever-evolving self. I’m sensitive to light (overhead lights are the devil; pools of light for the win), and have been known to follow Marcus into rooms, aggressively snapping off lights he’s turned on like some sort of vampire, and illuminating softer lamps, instead. I almost always have music playing, depending on my surroundings, or anxiety levels, or even my goals. (For example, I have the aforementioned dentist playlist, an airplane playlist, even an in-my-studio writing playlist — you can hear my playlist for my upcoming book, here!) If a chair isn’t in the right position in a room, or we’re seated in the wrong part of a restaurant, I feel off.
Just me?
But the same is also true for geographies: I love the feeling when I’m in a vibrant city or a sleepy, seaside town (both are great, but different) — but when I’m in the mountains or in vast countryside, while I can appreciate their beauty, I never feel quite me. More specifically, it has been almost two years since our family has been splitting our life between Houston, Texas, and Bath, United Kingdom — and I was thinking, recently, that in some ways, I’m a different person in each place, primarily due to my surroundings. For instance, while I’m decidedly an introvert — and nothing will ever change this — in Houston, I’ve no problem staying home in the cool air conditioning, and never stepping foot outside, for days at a time. But in Bath, I find myself a bit restless staying home: it’s not that I want to socialize, necessarily, but the design of the city, with its storefronts and cafes along every street, makes me a person who needs to get out of the house, if only to quietly window shop on my own. In Bath, I even dress differently — not because of the weather (entirely), but because I feel like a different person than I do when I’m in Houston, and I think it has to do with how different the places I visit in those cities are, and how different the vibe is. It’s not like I’m trying to be a different person; I just am a different person. I’m not trying to blend in (perish the thought), but it’s like a different side of me moves to the forefront of who I am.
As I type this, I feel like this might sound a bit crazy. Maybe. But you feel it too, right?
The upshot is this: I believe surroundings can influence mood, or outlook, or even identity. (And I haven’t touched on the way that the politics and culture of a place can affect how it feels to exist in that space, especially as a person who is a member of any disenfranchised group. I strongly suspect that will be an essay for another time.) I’d love to hear your thoughts, advice or even quirks about your surroundings, and how you make your world feel like who you are. Prove to me I’m not alone.
(Related: in the video at the top of this post, I share a bit of what our life feels like these days, in images and music, when we’re in Bath. At some point, I’ll have to do something similar for Houston and compare. Maybe seeing them side by side, it’ll all make more sense to me.)
Here’s to spaces that allow us to tap into the parts of ourselves that we love. Have a great week, friends.
