I’ve been thinking a lot lately about something that struck me during a recent doctor’s appointment. The waiting room was one of those typical medical office spaces – fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, beige walls, plastic chairs arranged in neat rows. No windows, no plants, nothing remotely natural about it. After sitting there for forty-five minutes (you know how that goes), I found myself feeling more anxious than when I’d arrived, and it wasn’t just because I was waiting to hear test results.
It got me wondering: when did we decide that the places where we spend our time should be completely cut off from the natural world? When I was growing up in the 1950s and 60s, even institutional buildings usually had windows you could actually see out of, maybe a few plants in the lobby. Now it seems like we’ve designed nature right out of our everyday environments, and I’m starting to think that’s a bigger problem than most people realize.
What Happens When We Cut Ourselves Off From Nature
Over the past few years, as I’ve been modifying our house to work better for aging bodies, I’ve done a lot of reading about how our surroundings affect our health and wellbeing. One thing that keeps coming up in the research is how much harm we’re doing to ourselves by creating spaces that have no connection to the natural world.
The absence of nature in many urban environments isn’t just an aesthetic issue – it genuinely affects mental health and contributes to larger ecological problems. I see this in my own community. The newer shopping centers and office buildings are basically sealed boxes with artificial everything. People go from their climate-controlled cars into climate-controlled buildings, then back to their cars, never actually experiencing natural light or fresh air or any living thing besides other people.
My wife and I have noticed how different we feel when we spend time in these completely artificial environments versus when we’re in spaces that have some connection to the outdoors. It’s subtle but real – a kind of disconnection that leaves you feeling drained rather than refreshed.
The Mental Health Connection
When I started researching therapeutic gardens for my wife after her stroke, I learned about something called biophilic design. Essentially, it’s the practice of incorporating natural elements into built environments because humans have an innate connection to nature that affects our psychological wellbeing.
This isn’t just feel-good theory. There’s solid research showing that when natural elements are incorporated into spaces, people experience reduced stress, improved mood, and better cognitive performance. I’ve seen this firsthand in my wife’s response to the modifications we’ve made to our home and garden.
The raised bed garden I built at wheelchair height has done more for her mental health than any of the medications the doctors prescribed after her stroke. Having plants to tend, being able to work with soil, seeing things grow – it’s like she came back to life in a way that sitting inside watching TV never accomplished.
I started paying attention to how different environments affected both of us. The bank we use remodeled a few years ago and added a lot of plants and natural lighting. I swear the tellers seem happier, and I certainly feel less stressed doing business there. Meanwhile, the grocery store where we shop feels like a warehouse – harsh fluorescent lighting, no windows, everything artificial – and I always leave there feeling worn out.
Environmental Responsibility
The more I’ve learned about biophilic design, the more I understand it’s not just about making spaces feel nicer. It’s actually a way to address some of the environmental problems we’ve created by designing nature out of our built environments.
Buildings that incorporate green walls, energy-efficient natural lighting, and sustainable materials don’t just make people feel better – they actually reduce energy consumption and support local ecosystems. I’ve seen examples of office buildings that cut their energy costs significantly by using natural lighting and ventilation instead of relying entirely on artificial systems.
When I was working as an engineer, we were always focused on efficiency and function, but we rarely thought about how our designs affected the broader environment. Now I realize that every building, every development, every design choice either supports or undermines the natural systems we all depend on.
The corporate mindset of my generation was often about conquering nature rather than working with it. We built sealed environments because we could, because technology allowed us to control every variable. But we’re learning that this approach has costs we didn’t anticipate – both for human health and for the environment.
The Financial Reality
One thing I’ve learned in nearly four decades of homeownership is that improvements that seem expensive upfront often save money in the long run. The same principle applies to biophilic design, though a lot of people dismiss it as an expensive luxury.
When I was researching modifications for our home, I looked into the costs and benefits of different approaches. Adding more natural light, incorporating plants, creating better connections to outdoor spaces – these changes required some upfront investment, but they’ve paid off in reduced energy costs and, frankly, reduced healthcare expenses.
My wife’s improved mental health means fewer doctor visits and less medication. Our lower heating and cooling costs from better natural light and ventilation add up over time. The vegetables from our accessible garden reduce our grocery bills and taste better than anything from the store.
I’ve read studies showing that properties with biophilic design elements have higher values and attract tenants more easily. Buildings with natural lighting and green spaces have lower employee turnover and higher productivity. From a purely financial standpoint, incorporating natural elements into design makes sense.
Community Benefits
What really convinced me about the value of biophilic design was seeing how it affects entire communities. Our church’s project to create an accessible garden has brought people together in ways I didn’t expect. Members who barely spoke to each other before now collaborate on planting and maintenance. The space is used for outdoor services, social events, and quiet reflection.
I’ve learned about parks and public spaces that were transformed from problem areas into community assets simply by incorporating better natural lighting, plants, and design that encourages positive social interaction. When spaces invite people to linger and connect, they become safer and more vibrant.
The senior center where I volunteer was able to reduce behavioral problems and medication use among participants simply by adding plants, improving natural lighting, and creating a small outdoor garden space. These weren’t expensive renovations – mostly small changes that made the environment feel more alive and welcoming.
More Than Just Pretty Decoration
After several years of learning about and implementing these ideas, I’m convinced that biophilic design isn’t just an aesthetic choice or a trendy concept. It’s a practical approach that addresses real problems – mental health issues, environmental challenges, financial pressures, and social isolation.
The evidence is clear from multiple angles: psychological, environmental, economic, and social. Incorporating natural elements into our built environments isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity we’ve forgotten in our rush to build efficiently and cheaply.
Biophilic design isn’t simply an aesthetic preference but a comprehensive approach that benefits both individual wellness and collective environmental responsibility. It’s about remembering that we’re part of the natural world, not separate from it, and designing our spaces accordingly.
As I continue working on home modifications and volunteering with community spaces, I’m constantly amazed by how much difference small changes can make. Better natural lighting, a few plants, views of trees or sky, spaces that connect indoors and outdoors – these simple elements can transform how people feel and function in a space.
We spent decades designing nature out of our environments in the name of progress and efficiency. Maybe it’s time to design it back in, not as decoration, but as a fundamental requirement for healthy, sustainable, livable spaces.
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.
