# Why Some Spaces Make You Feel Amazing (and Others Just Don’t)
You know that feeling when you walk into certain places and something just… clicks? Like your whole body relaxes without you even realizing it was tense? I used to think this was just me being weird, but turns out there’s actual science behind why some spaces make us feel great and others make us want to bolt for the exit.
I had this moment last week that really drove it home for me. I was meeting a friend at this coffee shop I’d never been to before – usually these trendy places are all concrete and Edison bulbs, you know the type. But this one felt completely different the second I walked in. It took me a few minutes to figure out why. The owner had positioned these big windows so you could see this gorgeous maple tree outside, and as people walked by or the wind moved the branches, you’d catch these little glimpses of movement in your peripheral vision. Nothing dramatic, just… life happening nearby.
That’s basically what biophilic design is all about, though I didn’t know the term until I fell down a research rabbit hole during lockdown. It’s not just throwing some plants in the corner and calling it done – though don’t get me wrong, I love a good pothos as much as anyone. It’s about understanding that humans have been living alongside nature for basically forever, and our brains and bodies still expect that connection even when we’re stuck in buildings all day.
I got really into this stuff after spending way too much time in my apartment during 2020 and realizing how much my space was affecting my mood. Started reading everything I could find about why certain environments make us feel good or terrible. There was this one article about a hospital in Denmark where they put aquariums in the children’s wing, and kids’ anxiety levels dropped by like forty percent just from being able to watch fish swimming while they waited for appointments. That blew my mind.
So I started experimenting in my own place, and honestly, some attempts were complete disasters. I tried setting up this little water fountain thing on my desk after reading about how water sounds can improve focus. Except the constant trickling drove me absolutely nuts when I was trying to work. Turns out there’s a big difference between peaceful nature sounds and just… noise. Who knew? I lasted about three days before I had to pack that thing away.
But other changes actually worked. I replaced all my light bulbs with these full-spectrum ones that shift color temperature throughout the day, mimicking how sunlight changes from morning to evening. Cost maybe sixty bucks total, and within a week I was sleeping better and didn’t need that afternoon coffee that used to be non-negotiable. My sister thought I was being ridiculous until I had her over for dinner and she commented on how “cozy and alert” she felt. Then she went home and ordered the same bulbs for her place.
The thing that really gets me is how much of this is subtle stuff that works on your nervous system without you consciously noticing it. I read about this office renovation where they focused on what the designer called “invisible nature” – air-purifying plants throughout the space, acoustic panels made from natural materials that absorbed harsh sounds, ventilation that created gentle air movement instead of that dead, recirculated feeling you get in most buildings. Employees reported feeling less stressed and taking fewer sick days, but couldn’t really explain why the space felt different.
I’ve become kind of obsessed with materials too, which is probably my dad’s influence – he was a cabinetmaker and always insisted you could tell the difference between real wood and fake wood just by touching it. He was right, though I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I keep a little collection of wood samples now that I’ve picked up from various projects or found at the lumber yard, and it’s wild how different they feel. Your hands know immediately whether something is authentic or artificial, even if your brain takes a second to catch up.
When I was helping my friend redesign her home office last year, we couldn’t afford to redo everything, but we made a few strategic changes with natural materials. Swapped out her plastic desk lamp for one with a wooden base, got a cork board instead of the metal one she had, added a small piece of reclaimed wood as a shelf. Nothing expensive, but the whole room felt warmer and more inviting. She said she actually looked forward to working there instead of dreading it.
The water feature thing taught me that not all nature sounds are created equal. After my desktop fountain disaster, I did more research and learned that irregular, gentle water movement – like what you’d hear near a creek – can actually help with concentration by masking distracting background noise. But aggressive bubbling or splashing just becomes another source of distraction. I ended up getting this tiny tabletop fountain from a thrift store that barely makes any sound, just enough to create a sense of movement and life in the space.
What really fascinates me is how much our bodies respond to natural patterns and rhythms, even in artificial environments. I’ve got this setup now where morning sunlight hits this piece of textured glass I found at a garage sale, and it creates these shifting patterns on my wall throughout the day. Cost me maybe eight dollars, but it connects me to the day’s progression in a way that feels genuinely meaningful. I find myself glancing over and being able to tell what time it is just from how the light is moving.
I read this article about a senior living facility that designed their common areas around seasonal change. Residents could track the year’s progression through carefully planned views of trees that lose their leaves, and they even adjusted the lighting to reflect natural cycles throughout the seasons. The director mentioned that people seemed more oriented and less anxious when they had those connections to natural rhythms. Makes total sense when you think about it – we’ve been tracking seasons and daylight patterns for millions of years. Why would we suddenly not need that anymore?
The mistake I see everywhere is treating this stuff like decoration – something you add on top of conventional design. But from what I’ve read and experienced in my own space, the most effective approaches integrate natural principles from the beginning. How does light move through your room during the day? Where can you create visual connections to outdoor elements? Can you use materials that feel good to touch, not just look at?
I’m not gonna lie, some of this gets expensive if you want to go all out. Real wood costs more than laminate, obviously. Full-spectrum lighting systems aren’t cheap. But I’ve found that even small touches can shift how a space feels entirely. Maybe it’s just swapping out cabinet pulls for ones made from actual branches, or choosing paint colors that reflect the subtle variations you see in natural materials instead of those stark, uniform colors that feel so artificial.
There was this documentary I watched about traditional Japanese architecture, and they talked about how houses were designed with sliding walls that could open completely to gardens. The boundaries between inside and outside were intentionally blurred. We’ve gotten so focused on sealing and controlling our indoor environments that we’ve lost that connection entirely. But even small gestures toward porosity – windows you can actually open, views of growing things, materials that change slightly with humidity and temperature – can make a huge difference.
What I love most is when these changes work on multiple levels without being obvious about it. The coffee shop I mentioned earlier wasn’t trying to scream “look how natural we are!” It was just thoughtfully designed to support how humans actually function best. Good natural light, views of movement and life, materials that feel authentic under your hands, acoustic properties that let you have a conversation without shouting.
I’ve started paying attention to this stuff everywhere I go now, and the patterns are pretty obvious once you notice them. Spaces that incorporate natural elements – even simple ones like plants, natural light, authentic materials, connections to outdoor views – consistently feel more comfortable and inviting. People linger longer, seem more relaxed, interact more naturally with each other.
My apartment is still a work in progress, and I definitely still kill plants sometimes. That herb garden I tried to start on my windowsill was a mixed success at best. But the changes that have worked have genuinely improved my daily life. Better sleep, more stable energy throughout the day, just a general sense that my living space supports my wellbeing instead of working against it.
I think we’ve gotten so used to artificial environments that we’ve forgotten how much our surroundings affect us. But our bodies remember, even when our minds don’t. Creating spaces that honor our connection to natural systems isn’t about going backward or rejecting technology – it’s about designing environments that work with our biology instead of against it. And honestly, once you start noticing the difference, it’s hard to go back to spaces that ignore these principles entirely.
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.
