understated stories of
awe-inspired living.

Reaching Vieques, Puerto Rico requires a bit of intention, and it’s precisely what makes it so special. Despite being just seven miles off the mainland, Vieques feels worlds away from the bustle of San Juan, and a more authentic and unhurried version of it.

Perched in the rolling hills of Accord, NY, Inness feels like the kind of place where time is about to stop. This gem encourages a different relationship with time. When spaces are created with intention rather than spectacle, they offer something increasingly rare: permission to be present.

I'm not suggesting we need constant stimulation or dramatic life changes. Instead, I believe that small creative disruptions to our routine can help us feel more interesting and interested, more engaged, know ourselves better, and fill our cup to have more to give to others.

Why do certain spaces make us feel immediately at ease, while others leave us subtly unsettled? As someone used to traveling and moving through countless public spaces, from sterile airport lounges that heighten anxiety to rural hotels and downtown cafés where time seems to expand, I've become increasingly curious about how intentional design shapes our internal landscape.

There's a paradox I've been sitting with lately: it takes tremendous energy to slow down. Counterintuitive, isn't it? We imagine slowness as some absence of effort, but I'm finding it's quite the opposite.