Sacred Surroundings

For the past six years, I've cooked in a kitchen that never really worked for me. We had the extreme gift of moving to San Diego during Covid, and that was amazing. It also meant we bought our house online, sight unseen, after a friend and our broker FaceTimed us through the house! We took a leap and bought, and we are blessed with a lovely home.

And a bummer of a small kitchen… with, like, the worst use of space. Which I knew going in. So when, after six years of major holiday entertaining, endless Friday night Sabbath dinners and the usual weeknight rush, it was a huge breath to finally be ready for the renovation we always planned on and hoped for. (Stating here, my deep gratitude for the serious privilege of being able to do so.)

In a miraculous five weeks, we renovated the kitchen, which, thanks to our open floor plan, also meant new floors and fresh paint for the entire downstairs. We brought in warm grays, blues and creams alongside light, airy new flooring, and somehow the transformation was epic. The whole house seemed to exhale. Truly, there is a serenity in those tones and the space we created that I never anticipated. And because we were already doing it, I decided to finally gift myself a serious upgrade in many of the cooking tools I'd been making due with for years. So fun!

I expected to love it. I expected gratitude and the fun of new space and stuff. I did not expect it to change me internally and feel literally life-changing. The shift has been so much bigger than aesthetics.

I find myself lingering in the kitchen instead of rushing through it. I'm meal planning again. Like actual recipe scrolling, shopping list making and anticipating enjoying the process. I'm excited to cook, which is a blessing, as 20 years as the solo cook in the family has taken its toll. Even emptying the dishwasher feels strangely joyful (I KNOW! Nerd out or what?!) because everything has a place and there's room to breathe.

Most surprising of all, after years of working from home and escaping to coffee shops or coworking spaces just to be around other humans, I don't feel the same pull to leave. For now, at least, my own home feels deeply nourishing. The energy here feels different, and because of that, my energy feels different. I'm more present with my clients. More creative, more settled, more available for the transformational work I have the privilege of doing every day.

It has reminded me that feng shui isn't just about furniture placement or design trends. It's a legit spiritual practice. It is not that moving your couch changes your destiny, but rather that it reflects something ancient that we've known for a very long time: our surroundings truly shape us.

This isn't new wisdom. Nothing truly is. We know this when we step into a forest and feel our shoulders drop before we've consciously relaxed. We know it when we walk into a room after an argument and can almost feel the tension hanging in the air, or when we enter a workplace where people genuinely enjoy one another's company versus one where everyone is quietly protecting themselves. You know when you walk into a space and say, “It just feels good here.”

Environments carry energy, and we are in constant relationship with that energy. The physical environment is simply the easiest place to notice it. But once you do, it's impossible not to see the parallels everywhere: the emotional environment of a family, the psychological environment of a workplace, the relational environment of a friendship, the cultural environment of a team.

Every space asks a question of us. Our nervous systems (as I say often) respond in two modes: inhale with contraction or exhale with expansion. Protect or I am Safe.

And what feels good is also personal, right? What settles my system may be completely different from what settles yours. Apparently, warm blues and grays are my nervous system's thang; maybe you need black and gold (ugh, no thanks but no judgment!). Maybe I need quiet and you need music. There is no one ideal environment. Understanding what allows us, and the people around us, to feel grounded, safe and able to expand matters.

This is why the work I do with leaders has never been entirely about their individual leadership. It's so deeply and always about environment, ecosystem. A leader who does the courageous work of becoming more grounded, emotionally regulated, self-aware and generous doesn't just change themselves; they change the atmosphere everyone else walks into. But great leadership is also knowing that what allows me to thrive may not be what allows you to thrive. The leader who understands what different people need, and then does their best to create an environment that works for as many of them as possible, creates the conditions for people to do their best work. That means the energy they bring, yes, but also the systems, processes, feedback protocols and ways of working they put in place. A healthy environment isn't about making everyone comfortable in exactly the same way. It's about paying attention to what allows different people to feel safe enough, supported enough and understood enough to expand.

And we aren't only shaped by environments; we are environments for other people. What we cultivate internally comes into every room with us.

One of my favorite Maya Angelou moments has stayed with me for years. She once shared that, with all her profound canon of work, essentially the greatest thing she ever did was love herself. I've always found that breathtaking because what we cultivate within ourselves becomes part of the environment we create around us. Loving ourselves isn't a retreat from serving the world. The more grounded, loving, open and whole we become internally, the more of that we bring into our homes, our relationships, our teams and every room we enter.

So maybe it really does start at home. In both senses of the word. Sometimes that means the home inside of us and sometimes, quite literally, it means home. A freshly painted wall, fresh flowers on the counter, a favorite mug, a cleared workspace, music (or for me, a glass of wine) while making dinner. Or a smile before a meeting begins, a leader who chooses curiosity over defensiveness, a parent who pauses before reacting. They are all ways of tending to the environments we have the power to influence, beginning with ourselves.

In a moment when so many of us feel overwhelmed by the noise, division, urgency and toxicity around us, we have more agency than we are sometimes willing to see. We may not control everything, or much at all really, happening in the world, but we do have extraordinary influence over the spaces we inhabit and create. Some of us have the ability to change the physical space; all of us have some ability to tend to our internal one, and therefore to influence the energy we bring and the atmosphere people experience when they encounter us.

Our reno and my glorious new kitchen didn't resolve every challenge, tension or contraction in my life. But it reminded me of something I suspect I'll carry far beyond these beautiful new countertops: beauty is not frivolous, order is not superficial, and creating spaces that help people feel more peaceful, more connected, more alive, including ourselves, is one of the quietest and most powerful forms of service I know.

(Also, apparently more space, breath, energy and love make their way into the food too, because I swear my cooking is way yummier now. And prettier. Just saying.)