My old desktop computer finally gave up the ghost last month. Right in the middle of trying to help our church secretary figure out the new video system for streaming services. One minute I’m explaining how to adjust the camera angle, next minute – nothing. Black screen, dead as a doornail.
But here’s what surprised me. Instead of getting frustrated like I usually do with technology problems, I just grabbed my notebook (still prefer writing things down by hand) and kept working from the kitchen table. Sitting there with the morning light coming through the window, looking out at my wife’s bird feeders, I actually got more done in two hours than I’d managed all week hunched over that screen in what I’d been calling my “office.”
Made me realize I’d been reading all these articles about biophilic design and therapeutic environments for older adults, but I hadn’t applied any of it to my own workspace. Classic case of being so focused on helping others that you ignore your own problems.
Most people assume working from home means you’re automatically connected to nature. You’re in your own house, you can open windows, take breaks in the yard. But honestly, looking around at my setup and talking to other retirees who work from home – whether it’s managing finances, volunteering, or staying connected with family – most of us have created these isolated little caves.
I had my desk shoved in a corner of the spare bedroom, fluorescent desk lamp casting harsh shadows, one dying snake plant that I’d forgotten to water for months. Window covered with heavy blinds because the glare bothered my eyes. The whole space felt like a waiting room at the doctor’s office.
We’d accidentally created these sterile productivity boxes that cut us off from everything that actually makes us feel human and alert.
After thirty-eight years in the same house, I should know which rooms get the best light at different times of day. But I’d never really thought about it when I set up this workspace three years ago after I retired. Just picked the spare room because it had space for a desk and filing cabinet.
The computer dying forced me to really look at what I’d created. Everything was beige or gray – “professional” colors that just made the room feel dead. No wonder I kept finding excuses to get up and wander around the house instead of focusing on whatever project I was working on.
First thing I changed was moving the desk so it faced the window instead of having my back to it. Sounds obvious, but I’d been so worried about screen glare that I’d completely cut myself off from natural light. Within a few days, I noticed my energy staying more consistent throughout the day. Been sleeping better too, which my wife says is because I’m finally getting proper light exposure to regulate my sleep cycles.
Got rid of that awful fluorescent lamp and replaced it with three different light sources – a warm LED desk lamp, a floor lamp I can adjust throughout the day, and some simple string lights around the window. Took some experimenting to get it right, but the layered lighting makes the space feel alive instead of like a basement office.
The plant situation needed serious work. I’d been treating that snake plant like a piece of furniture – stick it somewhere and forget about it. Started researching which plants actually do well in my light conditions and learning proper care routines. Amazing how much I didn’t know after watching my wife garden for decades.
Brought in a larger pothos for the corner, added a spider plant that’s already sprouting babies, and set up small pots of herbs on the windowsill. Basil, mint, and a little rosemary plant. Partly because my wife likes having fresh herbs for cooking, but mostly because the scents help me stay calm when I’m dealing with frustrating computer problems or complicated volunteer coordination.
One thing I learned from all my reading about therapeutic environments is how important texture variety is, especially as we age. Everything in my old setup was hard and smooth – metal desk, plastic chair, synthetic everything. Added a small area rug with natural fibers, some bamboo desk organizers, and this piece of driftwood from a Lake Michigan beach that now holds my reading glasses.
Even added a small tabletop fountain with smooth river rocks. Sounds fancy, but I got it at a discount store for twenty dollars. The gentle water sound masks neighborhood noise and helps me concentrate during phone calls. Plus I read somewhere that moving water creates negative ions that can improve alertness – don’t know if that’s true, but it certainly feels more pleasant than dead silence.
Changed the wall color from builder-grade beige to a soft green that reminds me of early spring. Nothing dramatic – still looks professional on video calls with the church committee – but warm enough to feel connected to natural environments. Added a few landscape photos I’d taken around Michigan instead of the generic prints that came with the house.
The results have genuinely surprised me. I can focus for longer periods without getting restless. Don’t need as much coffee in the afternoon because my energy stays steadier. Even my posture improved because I’m not unconsciously trying to escape an unpleasant environment.
But the biggest change is how it affects problem-solving. I’ll be working on some project – maybe planning the church garden or troubleshooting a accessibility modification for our house – and I’ll get stuck on some detail. Then I’ll notice how the light is hitting the leaves, or hear birds at the feeder outside, and somehow that little moment resets my thinking. Like my brain gets a micro-break that unsticks whatever I was wrestling with.
People have noticed the difference on video calls too. Our pastor mentioned how much more relaxed I seem during online meetings. One of the other volunteers asked about the “peaceful feeling” of my background setup. They’re not consciously noticing the plants and natural elements, but something about the environment comes across differently than a standard home office.
Maintenance isn’t complicated either. Watering plants takes maybe ten minutes twice a week. The fountain needs refilling every few days. Adjusting the lighting throughout the day has become automatic – barely think about it anymore.
I know not everyone can make major changes to their workspace. Rental restrictions, tight budgets, space limitations – believe me, I understand fixed income constraints. But even small changes make a difference. One healthy plant. Opening blinds during the day instead of relying only on artificial light. Adding a single natural material – a wooden organizer, a small stone paperweight, even a woven placemat under your keyboard.
The key insight for me was understanding that workspace design isn’t just about having room for your stuff – it’s about supporting how your brain and body actually function. This is especially important as we age and spend more time indoors. We evolved in natural environments, and our nervous systems still respond to those elements even when we’re doing completely modern tasks like managing online banking or coordinating volunteer schedules.
I eventually got a replacement computer, but I kept working from that kitchen table for another week because it felt so much better than my old setup. Sometimes equipment failures force you to see familiar spaces in completely new ways. Turned out to be one of the most useful “accidents” I’ve had in years.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
