I walked into this corporate building yesterday for a dentist appointment, and honestly, I just stopped dead in the lobby. It felt like stepping into some kind of indoor jungle – not in an overwhelming way, but in this really calming way that caught me completely off guard. There were these moss walls, water trickling down from somewhere I couldn’t quite see, and these massive skylights that made the whole space feel alive. But here’s the weird thing – my first instinct wasn’t to look around and admire it all. My shoulders just dropped. I actually wanted to sit down in one of their chairs and hang out for a while, which is definitely not my usual reaction to waiting rooms.
That experience got me thinking about all the different approaches I’ve been trying in my own space over the past couple years. I mean, I’ve been pretty obsessed with this whole biophilic design thing since the pandemic made me realize how depressing my apartment was. But I’ve learned there’s a big difference between just throwing some plants around and actually creating something that makes you feel better.
The thing is, most of the spaces we spend time in are basically sensory deprivation chambers when you think about it. Our brains evolved outside, constantly processing natural light changes, organic patterns, seasonal shifts, all that stuff. Then we stick ourselves in boxes with fluorescent lights and beige walls and wonder why we feel terrible. I read this article once about how our nervous systems are literally calibrated for natural environments, and when we remove all those natural cues, our bodies register it as stress even if we don’t consciously realize what’s happening.
I learned this the hard way when I first started experimenting. My sister was complaining about her basement office making her feel depressed, so I got all enthusiastic and bought her fake plants, some nature photos from Target, and these weird scented plugins that were supposed to smell like pine forest. Technically it looked more “nature-y” than before, but honestly? It just felt like a themed restaurant. Somehow more depressing than the original boring beige room.
That’s when I started reading about the difference between actual biophilic design and just decorating with nature themes. The real stuff focuses on recreating natural processes, not just natural looks. So instead of fake plants, I helped her set up some LED lights that actually change color temperature throughout the day like real sunlight does. Instead of the Target nature posters, we figured out how to grow some actual plants that could survive in her weird basement lighting. And instead of those awful fake forest scents, we just got a better air purifier and cracked a window when possible.
The difference was pretty dramatic. She stopped getting those afternoon headaches, started staying down there for longer periods without feeling claustrophobic, and actually began using the space for things other than just work. Her kids started hanging out down there too, which never happened before.
I’ve been experimenting with a bunch of different approaches in my own apartment, with mixed results honestly. Some things work great, others are total failures, and some fall somewhere in between.
Direct nature contact is obviously the gold standard – like, actually having living plants and natural materials you can touch. But I’ve killed so many plants trying to figure this out. Turns out that just because something looks green and alive at the grocery store doesn’t mean it’ll survive in my north-facing apartment with terrible ventilation. I’ve gotten better at choosing plants that actually match my space instead of just buying whatever looks prettiest.
The ones that have survived are mostly low-light tolerant species – pothos, snake plants, that kind of thing. Nothing fancy, but they’ve made a bigger difference than I expected. There’s something about having actual living things around that you can’t replicate with fake versions. I water them every Sunday morning now, and it’s become this little ritual that I actually look forward to.
I’ve been getting into natural materials too, though this is tricky when you’re renting and can’t make major changes. I found this wooden cutting board at a thrift store for like six bucks, and now I keep it out on my counter all the time because I love the texture and smell of the wood. Got some stone coasters, a wooden lamp base, little things like that. There was this documentary I watched about how touching natural materials actually activates certain nerve pathways that make us feel calmer and more secure. Makes sense when you think about it.
But you can’t always have direct nature contact, especially if you live in a small space or work in an office. So I’ve been experimenting with what researchers call “indirect biophilia” – basically design elements that reference natural patterns without requiring actual living systems.
One thing that’s been really interesting is fractal patterns. I came across this study showing that fractal patterns – those repeating geometric shapes you see all over nature – have a measurable calming effect on people’s nervous systems. So I started looking for ways to incorporate them into my space. Found some fabric with subtle fractal prints, chose a rug with branching patterns, that sort of thing. The key seems to be keeping it subtle – when it’s too obvious it just looks busy and weird.
Color has been another big area of experimentation. I used to think biophilic color schemes meant painting everything forest green, but it’s way more complex than that. Natural environments have these incredibly sophisticated color relationships that shift constantly with the light. I spent way too much time researching paint colors and ended up choosing this palette inspired by a specific forest I found photos of online. Not just matching individual colors, but trying to capture how they work together and change throughout the day.
Water features have been hit or miss. I got this little tabletop fountain at a thrift store for eight dollars, and honestly, it’s been one of the best things I’ve added to my space. The sound blocks out some of the street noise from outside, and there’s something really soothing about watching the water move. Plus I read somewhere that moving water creates negative ions that can improve your mood – I don’t know if that’s actually happening, but it feels good anyway.
I tried to get fancy with a bigger fountain setup, but the pump was loud and annoying and kind of ruined the whole effect. Learned that lesson the hard way. If you’re going to do water features, invest in quality equipment or stick with simple setups.
Lighting has probably been my biggest success area, though it took some trial and error. I was reading about circadian rhythms and how our bodies need light cues to regulate sleep, hormones, all kinds of biological processes. Standard apartment lighting – especially those harsh overhead fixtures – basically disrupts all of that.
I found these smart LED bulbs that can shift color temperature throughout the day, mimicking natural sunlight patterns. Set them to start warm and dim in the morning, get bright and cool during the day, then gradually warm up and dim toward evening. It sounds gimmicky, but it’s genuinely improved my sleep and energy levels. I fall asleep easier and wake up feeling more rested.
The seasonal variation thing has been interesting to experiment with too. I rotate my plants seasonally – bring out flowering ones in spring, hardier green ones in winter. Change up the scents I use for cleaning – more floral stuff in spring and summer, warmer spices in fall and winter. Even found some seasonal soundscapes online that I’ll play sometimes – spring rain sounds, summer evening crickets, that kind of thing. Probably sounds ridiculous, but it helps me feel more connected to what’s actually happening outside.
My most successful projects combine multiple approaches. My desk area now has a small plant collection for direct nature contact, sits near the window to maximize natural light, has that little fountain for water sounds, uses natural wood accessories, and gets the dynamic lighting treatment in the evenings. None of these things cost a lot individually, but together they’ve transformed how that corner of my apartment feels.
The challenges are real though. Plant maintenance is ongoing work – I have to remember to water them, repot them, figure out what’s wrong when they start looking sad. The smart lighting setup required some technical troubleshooting. The fountain needs regular cleaning or it starts looking gross. This stuff isn’t just set-and-forget.
Budget is always a consideration too. I’ve tried to prioritize changes that give the biggest impact for the money. The lighting upgrades and a few key plants made way more difference than spending the same amount on decorative nature-themed accessories.
What I find most encouraging is that you don’t need to completely renovate your space or spend thousands of dollars to start creating these nature connections. Sometimes it really is as simple as moving your workspace closer to a window, adding a small plant that you’ll actually keep alive, or swapping out your light bulbs for full-spectrum ones.
I’m not trying to recreate a forest in my apartment – that would be weird and probably impossible anyway. The goal is more about restoring some of those biological connections that help humans function better, but that we’ve accidentally engineered out of modern life. Small changes that work with how our bodies and brains actually evolved to experience the world.
I’m still learning and experimenting. Some approaches work better than others, and what works in my space might not work in someone else’s. But I’ve definitely noticed that when I get these elements right, my apartment stops feeling like just a place where my stuff lives and starts feeling like a place that actually supports my wellbeing. That’s worth the ongoing trial and error.
Jeff writes about bringing bits of nature into everyday living spaces — not as a designer, but as a curious renter who experiments, fails, and keeps trying again. He shares what he’s learned about light, plants, and small changes that make big differences for real people living in ordinary apartments.
