After thirty-eight years in the same house, I’ve lived through enough design trends to make your head spin. I remember when everything was harvest gold and avocado green, then came the country blue phase, then the beige-everything era. But it wasn’t until my wife’s stroke eight years ago that I really started paying attention to how our living environment actually affects us day-to-day.
The difference between what I now know as biophilic design versus more conventional approaches became crystal clear when I started modifying our home for my wife’s needs. Walking into a room flooded with natural light, surrounded by plants we could actually tend to, versus sitting in our old den with its dark wood paneling and artificial lighting – well, the contrast was like night and day for her mood and pain levels.
I didn’t set out to become an expert on any of this. I was just a retired automotive engineer trying to help my wife recover and adapt. But as I started reading about therapeutic gardens and accessible design, I kept running across this term “biophilic design.” Turns out there’s actual science behind what my grandparents’ generation knew instinctively – that being connected to natural elements isn’t just nice to have, it’s essential for wellbeing.
When I talk about biophilic design now, I’m not spouting theory from some design school textbook. I’m talking about what I’ve actually implemented in our home and seen work. It’s about intentionally bringing natural elements indoors and creating better connections to the outdoors. Every modification I’ve made – enlarging windows for more natural light, creating raised garden beds at wheelchair height, adding plants that actually improve air quality – has a specific purpose related to health and comfort.
The results speak for themselves. My wife’s mood improved dramatically once she could spend time in our modified greenhouse during Michigan’s long winters. My own arthritis pain seems more manageable when I’m working in natural light rather than under fluorescent bulbs. We both sleep better since I replaced those heavy drapes with sheer panels that let in more daylight.
But here’s what I’ve learned from actually doing this work rather than just reading about it – you can’t just throw some plants around and call it biophilic design. That expensive indoor fountain I installed? Complete disaster. Leaked all over the hardwood floors and cost more to repair than it did to buy. The key is understanding what natural elements actually serve a functional purpose in your specific situation.
For us, the most effective changes have been the practical ones. Better natural lighting throughout the house helps with both mood and visibility – important when you’re dealing with aging eyes. Plants that are easy to maintain but actually clean the air. An accessible path around the yard so my wife can get outside independently. These aren’t Instagram-worthy design statements, but they’ve genuinely improved our quality of life.
Now, I should mention that not every space needs to look like a jungle. I’ve spent time in plenty of well-designed buildings that follow what you’d call non-biophilic principles – clean lines, modern materials, focus on function over natural elements. Our local hospital’s new wing is a good example. It’s efficient, easy to navigate, uses durable materials that can handle constant cleaning. Not particularly connected to nature, but it serves its purpose well.
The thing is, these more conventional design approaches often work fine when you’re young and healthy. That sterile, minimalist aesthetic might even appeal to you. But as you age, as your body starts having more limitations, as you spend more time at home – that’s when the absence of natural elements really starts affecting you. You feel more isolated, more disconnected, more aware of being stuck indoors.
I’ve seen this in my own peer group. Friends who live in those senior communities with institutional-style interiors – fluorescent lighting, vinyl floors, artificial plants if any – they just seem more depressed and lethargic compared to folks who’ve managed to age in place in homes with good natural light and real connections to outdoors.
The maintenance argument is legitimate though. My wife’s garden requires daily attention during growing season. Those houseplants need watering and care. The greenhouse needs seasonal adjustments. If you’re not physically able to handle that upkeep, or if you don’t have family nearby to help, then lower-maintenance design choices might make more sense.
But I’ve found ways to get some of the benefits without the high maintenance. LED lighting that mimics natural light patterns. Low-maintenance plants like snake plants and pothos that are hard to kill. Views of nature through enlarged windows even if you can’t maintain gardens yourself. The point is making intentional choices rather than just accepting whatever conventional wisdom says is easiest.
What I’ve Learned About More Conventional Design Approaches
Before I get too carried away promoting natural elements in home design, I should acknowledge that there are good reasons why buildings have moved away from some traditional approaches. Our old house, built in the 1960s, had plenty of natural materials – wood paneling, stone fireplace, large windows. But it was also drafty, hard to heat efficiently, and required constant maintenance.
Modern design approaches that prioritize function and efficiency aren’t just about looking sleek. They solve real problems. Those hospital-grade vinyl floors I mentioned? They’re there because you can disinfect them properly, they won’t harbor bacteria, and they’ll last for decades without replacement. Synthetic materials often outperform natural ones for durability and consistency.
I spent my career in automotive manufacturing, so I understand the appeal of engineered solutions. When you need something to perform the same way every time, under all conditions, manufactured materials usually beat natural ones. The composite decking I installed for my wife’s accessible outdoor area will never rot, never need staining, never develop splinters that could cause falls. Sometimes the artificial option really is better.
The downtown office building where I used to work meetings with other retirees is a perfect example of effective non-biophilic design. Everything’s about clean lines, controlled lighting, climate systems that maintain perfect conditions year-round. It’s not inspiring, but it’s completely functional. You can focus on whatever you’re there to do without distractions.
But here’s what I’ve noticed – spaces like that work fine for short periods, but they’re exhausting if you spend all day in them. By evening, after hours in that controlled environment, I’m always eager to get home to our modified house with its natural light and plants and connections to outdoors. The contrast makes you realize what’s missing.
What I’ve come to understand is that both approaches have their place, but the key is being intentional about when and why you use each one. For spaces where you spend lots of time, especially as you age, incorporating natural elements seems to make a real difference in how you feel. For spaces that need to prioritize function or durability, more conventional approaches might make better sense.
The trick is finding ways to combine the best of both approaches. In our accessible bathroom remodel, I used durable, easy-to-clean surfaces where needed, but I also made sure there was a window with a view of our bird feeder and room for a few low-maintenance plants. It’s practical but not sterile.
I’ve been helping other folks in our community with similar projects, and what works best is usually some combination – taking advantage of modern materials and systems where they solve real problems, but making sure you don’t lose all connection to natural elements in the process. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
The biggest mistake I see people make is choosing design approaches based on what looks good in magazines rather than thinking about how they’ll actually live in the space day after day, year after year. Whether you lean toward natural elements or more conventional approaches, the question should always be: how will this affect my daily comfort and wellbeing over the long term?
At my age, with the health challenges my wife and I are dealing with, that’s become the only question that really matters. Does this design choice help us live better, or does it just look impressive to visitors? The answer to that question has guided every modification we’ve made to our home, and it’s made all the difference.
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.
