Building a Place to Restore, Not Just Live

I Don't Just Want a House. I Want Somewhere I Can Exhale.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I want our next home to look like.

And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I'm not particularly interested in building some extravagant house simply for the sake of having one.

Don't get me wrong.

I appreciate beautiful architecture, thoughtful design, and all the little details that make a house feel special.

I could probably spend an unreasonable amount of time thinking through floor plans, materials, lighting, and how different spaces should flow together.

But those aren't necessarily the things that matter most to me.

What I've really been thinking about is how I want our home to make me feel.

Because I've come to realize that there's a difference between having somewhere to live and having somewhere that genuinely restores you.

And I want the latter.

I want to walk through the door after a long day and feel like I can finally exhale.

I want a place where my mind doesn't feel like it has to be constantly solving something.

Where I can disconnect from the seemingly endless stream of responsibilities, decisions, questions, and ideas running through my head.

A place where I can simply exist without feeling like I need to be productive.

Which, if you know me, is probably easier said than done.

My brain doesn't have much of an off switch.

I'm constantly thinking.

About work.

About leadership.

About systems.

About things I want to build.

About conversations I've had and conversations I haven't had yet.

About something I read three weeks ago that suddenly seems connected to something entirely unrelated.

And while I genuinely enjoy that part of myself, sometimes it would be nice if my mind would just be quiet for a little while.

Not permanently.

Just long enough to recharge.

And I've started wondering whether the spaces we create for ourselves can play a much greater role in making that possible.

We Spend So Much Time Building Environments for Other People

There's something a little ironic about all of this.

I've spent an enormous amount of my professional life thinking about environments.

How do we create environments where people feel safe?

Where they can do meaningful work?

Where they can collaborate, learn, and grow?

What conditions allow people to perform at their best?

What obstacles are preventing them from doing so?

I've always believed that the environment surrounding a person has an extraordinary influence on what they're capable of accomplishing.

Yet I wonder how often we apply that same intentionality to our personal lives.

We carefully consider the systems we work within.

The teams we build.

The processes we follow.

The tools we use.

But when it comes to our homes, how often do we stop to ask whether the environment we've created is actually giving us what we need?

Does it help us recover?

Does it make room for the things we enjoy?

Does it encourage us to spend time together?

Does it allow us to be still?

Or have we simply filled it with the things a house is expected to have?

I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting a beautiful home.

But I want to be more intentional than that.

I want to design our next home around the life we want to experience, not simply the things we want to own.

And interestingly enough, when I really started thinking about what would make that possible, I kept coming back to three things.

A swimming pool.

A soaking tub.

And a basketball hoop.

That's it.

Well, not entirely. I'm sure there will be countless other things we'll want to consider.

But those three?

Non-negotiable.

And here's why.

1. The Pool: Where My Mind Finally Learns to Be Still

There's something about being in water that I've always found incredibly peaceful.

I can't necessarily explain it.

Maybe it's the way everything feels quieter when you're floating.

Maybe it's the sensation of weightlessness.

Maybe it's the way the water seems to separate you, even momentarily, from everything happening around you.

But I've always found that being in a pool allows me to relax in a way that very few other things do.

It's my serenity.

My escape.

And when I think about our next home, I can't imagine building it without that space.

I want to be able to step outside, get into the water, and let the day slowly disappear.

No phone.

No notifications.

No meetings.

No responsibilities demanding an immediate response.

Just water, fresh air, and a little bit of sunshine.

There's also a practical side to it.

Water-based exercise is something I genuinely appreciate.

The buoyancy reduces the amount of weight our joints have to support, making swimming and other aquatic activities a great way to remain active without the same impact that comes with many land-based exercises.

As I get older, I find myself thinking more intentionally about longevity.

Not necessarily living forever, although I suppose that would be an interesting problem to solve.

But being able to continue doing the things I love for as long as possible.

Staying active.

Moving comfortably.

Having the energy to participate in the lives of the people I care about.

A pool gives me another way to invest in those things.

And then there's the sunshine.

I've always appreciated how spending time outdoors can influence my mood.

A little natural light, some fresh air, and an opportunity to disconnect can make a meaningful difference in how I feel.

Of course, there's a balance to everything, including being mindful of sun exposure.

But I don't think we always appreciate how valuable it can be to simply spend a little time outside.

What I love most, though, is that the pool doesn't have to serve just one purpose.

Some days it might be exercise.

Other days it might be relaxation.

And sometimes it might be filled with laughter, splashing, and the kind of chaos that inevitably comes with having kids.

There's something wonderful about that duality.

The same space that allows me to find a little peace can also become a place where my family creates memories together.

And I think that's exactly what I want our home to be.

2. The Soaking Tub: Because Sometimes Doing Nothing Is Exactly What I Need

Here's something I've never quite understood.

Why do so many houses have bathtubs that seem to have been designed exclusively for small children?

Our current home has bathtubs.

Technically.

But they're not really the kind of tubs I'd consider comfortable for a grown adult who wants to sit back, stretch out, and relax.

They're perfectly functional for giving kids a bath.

For an adult hoping to unwind?

Not so much.

You either have your legs folded into some unnatural position or half your body is sticking out of the water.

It's not exactly the peaceful experience I'm looking for.

So, when we build our next home, I want a proper soaking tub.

Something deep enough to actually sit in.

Comfortably.

Without needing to decide which half of my body deserves to be submerged.

And while that might seem like a relatively small request, I think it represents something much bigger.

The ability to slow down.

Intentionally.

Without needing a reason beyond the simple fact that I want to.

I've always been someone who enjoys doing things.

Building.

Learning.

Writing.

Solving problems.

Helping people.

If there's something that needs to be done, my mind has a tendency to start figuring out how to do it.

And while that's a characteristic I genuinely appreciate about myself, I've also come to recognize that constantly being engaged in something can become exhausting.

Sometimes I don't need another activity.

I don't need another project.

I don't need another opportunity to be productive.

Sometimes I just need to stop.

And I think there's something almost symbolic about a soaking tub.

You can't really accomplish much while you're sitting in one.

At least nothing that requires being particularly active.

You can think.

Reflect.

Listen to music.

Maybe read a book, assuming you're not particularly concerned about dropping it in the water.

Or you can simply sit there.

And let that be enough.

Warm water can help relax tense muscles and provide a comforting way to wind down after physical activity or a demanding day.

But for me, the benefit goes beyond physical recovery.

It's about creating a small ritual around rest.

A reminder that I don't have to earn the right to relax by completing every possible responsibility first.

Because if I'm waiting until there's absolutely nothing left to do, I'm probably never going to relax.

There will always be another email.

Another project.

Another idea.

Another problem worth solving.

Rest shouldn't be something we permit ourselves only after we've exhausted every opportunity to be productive. It should be something we intentionally make room for.

And apparently, in my case, that room needs a very large bathtub.

3. The Basketball Hoop: Ten Minutes to Change the Entire Day

Now this one might seem a little different from the first two.

A basketball hoop.

Nothing particularly luxurious about it.

No elaborate design requirements.

No special materials.

I just want a place where I can go outside and shoot a basketball.

That's it.

Of course, I need enough space to do it properly, which is why it's something I want to consider while we're planning the house rather than trying to figure out where to squeeze it in afterward.

But the reason I want it is incredibly simple.

Sometimes, after a difficult day, I just need to move.

Not necessarily go to the gym.

Not commit to an hour-long workout.

Not turn exercise into another carefully scheduled responsibility.

Just grab a basketball and shoot around for ten or fifteen minutes.

There's something almost meditative about it.

The sound of the ball bouncing.

The repetition of shooting.

The small adjustments you make without really thinking about them.

The satisfaction of hearing the ball go through the net.

And the frustration of watching one bounce off the rim when you were absolutely convinced it was going in.

For those few minutes, my attention has somewhere else to go.

I'm not replaying a difficult meeting in my head.

I'm not contemplating some complicated organizational challenge.

I'm not trying to plan the next five years of my life.

I'm just shooting a basketball.

And sometimes that's exactly what I need.

I think we underestimate the value of having simple, accessible ways to release stress.

We tend to make wellness complicated.

We create routines.

Buy equipment.

Set goals.

Measure progress.

And before long, something that was supposed to help us relax becomes another thing we're trying to optimize.

I don't want that.

I want to be able to have a rough day, walk outside, pick up a basketball, and feel a little better ten minutes later.

No expectations.

No pressure.

No performance metrics.

Just movement.

And if I get a little exercise in the process, even better.

But there's another reason this particular non-negotiable means so much to me.

My kids.

I Want to Build the Memories Along With the House

One of the things I've found myself thinking about more as my children get older is how quickly time seems to move.

You spend so much of your life looking forward to the next milestone.

The next stage.

The next accomplishment.

And then one day you realize that the moments you thought would last forever have already become memories.

It's a strange thing.

And I think it's made me more intentional about the kind of experiences I want to create with my family.

Because I don't want our next home to simply be a place where we all happen to live.

I want it to be a place where we genuinely enjoy spending time together.

And I can imagine the basketball hoop becoming part of that.

At first, maybe it's just me shooting around.

Then one of the kids comes outside and wants to join.

Maybe we lower the hoop.

Maybe we play HORSE.

Maybe we spend an unreasonable amount of time debating whether someone's shot actually counted.

Eventually, they get older.

They become more coordinated.

More competitive.

And before I know it, I'm probably the one making excuses about why I missed a shot I absolutely should have made.

But I love the idea of that.

Not because I'm trying to raise professional basketball players.

Not because I need them to love the sport as much as I do.

But because it's something we can do together.

Something simple.

Something that doesn't require an elaborate plan.

Just a basketball and a little bit of time.

And who knows?

Maybe it becomes a ritual.

Maybe shooting around after dinner becomes something we do together.

Maybe it's where some of our best conversations happen.

Maybe it's where they feel comfortable talking about something that's been bothering them because we're not sitting across from one another having some formal conversation.

We're just outside.

Shooting a basketball.

Talking.

Laughing.

Being together.

Or maybe they'll develop entirely different interests, and the hoop will remain something I mostly use myself.

That's okay too.

The point isn't to dictate what our family memories should look like.

It's to create opportunities for them to happen.

I don't think the most meaningful family traditions are always the ones we intentionally plan. Sometimes they're the ordinary things we make enough room to repeat.

And that's what I want this house to encourage.

The Common Thread Isn't Really About the Amenities

The more I think about these three things, the more I realize they have something important in common.

They're all opportunities to step away.

Not away from my family.

Not away from my responsibilities.

But away from the constant expectation that I need to be doing something useful.

The pool gives me serenity.

The soaking tub gives me stillness.

The basketball hoop gives me movement.

Three different experiences.

But all three create an opportunity for my mind to exist somewhere other than the seemingly endless stream of thoughts that occupy it throughout the day.

And here's what's interesting.

I don't necessarily want my mind to stop working.

I love the way I think.

I love questioning things.

I love exploring ideas and discovering connections between experiences that initially seem completely unrelated.

It's a huge part of who I am.

But I also recognize that being constantly engaged isn't necessarily the same thing as being fulfilled.

Sometimes I want to think because I'm curious.

Not because something needs to be solved.

Sometimes I want to move because it feels good.

Not because I'm trying to achieve some fitness goal.

Sometimes I want to spend time with my family without thinking about what needs to happen next.

And sometimes I want to do absolutely nothing without feeling like I'm wasting time.

I think there's something incredibly valuable about creating an environment that makes those things possible.

I don't want my home to demand anything from me. I want it to create opportunities for me to give more of myself to the things and people that matter.

And perhaps that's the distinction I've been searching for.

A Home Should Give Something Back

I've spent years thinking about how to create value for other people.

How to help teams perform better.

How to help organizations solve difficult problems.

How to help individuals recognize and realize their potential.

And I genuinely love that work.

I don't think I'll ever stop finding fulfillment in helping other people succeed.

But I've also started recognizing the importance of creating space in my own life for restoration.

Because even the things we love can take energy from us.

Work can be fulfilling and exhausting.

Leadership can be rewarding and emotionally demanding.

Being someone who genuinely cares about other people can be one of the most meaningful parts of life while also requiring a tremendous amount of emotional investment.

And I don't think we should pretend otherwise.

We all need opportunities to recover.

To disconnect.

To experience things that exist purely because they make us happy.

And perhaps most importantly, to spend time with the people who remind us why we're doing everything else in the first place.

I don't want to build a house that's simply impressive to look at.

I want to build one that reflects those priorities.

A home that encourages us to spend time outside.

That makes relaxation feel natural rather than something we have to schedule.

That creates room for movement, laughter, conversation, and quiet.

That gives my family opportunities to make memories without needing to go somewhere else to find them.

And that helps me return to the things I'm passionate about with a little more energy, clarity, and patience.

Because I've come to believe that a restorative environment isn't necessarily one where nothing happens.

It's one where we have the freedom to choose what we need.

Some days that might mean silence.

Other days it might mean an afternoon filled with laughter and splashing in the pool.

Sometimes it might mean sitting in a soaking tub with absolutely no intention of accomplishing anything.

And sometimes it might mean shooting a basketball until I finally make the shot I've been missing for the last ten minutes.

All of those experiences have value.

Even if that value can't be measured in productivity, accomplishments, or anything else we typically use to determine whether our time has been well spent.

What I Really Want to Build

When I imagine our next home, I don't necessarily picture the countertops.

Or the flooring.

Or the size of the kitchen.

Those things will matter when we're designing it, of course.

But they're not what comes to mind first.

I picture the water.

The quiet.

The sunshine.

The sound of a basketball bouncing in the driveway.

I picture the kids laughing.

I picture the evenings when there's nothing particularly important happening and somehow that's exactly what makes them special.

I picture being able to finish a difficult day and knowing there's somewhere I can go to reset.

Somewhere I don't have to be a manager.

A coach.

A problem-solver.

A person with an answer.

Or someone who's expected to have the next great idea.

Somewhere I can just be myself.

And I think that's what I'm really trying to build.

Not a bigger house.

Not a more impressive house.

A home that gives us more opportunities to experience the kind of life we want to live.

A place that restores rather than simply shelters.

A place that makes room for both movement and stillness.

For solitude and connection.

For laughter and reflection.

For the extraordinary moments and the wonderfully ordinary ones.

And maybe, years from now, when I look back on the home we've built, I won't remember every design decision we made.

But I hope I remember the afternoons in the pool.

The quiet evenings when I finally learned how to slow down.

The basketball games with my kids.

The conversations that happened without anyone planning them.

And all the little moments that made the house feel like ours.

Because I don't think the success of a home should be measured only by what it contains.

It should be measured by the life it allows us to experience within it.

So yes, when we eventually build our next home, I have three non-negotiables.

A pool.

A soaking tub.

A basketball hoop.

Not because I need more things.

But because I want more opportunities to experience what those things represent.

Peace. Recovery. Movement. Connection.

And maybe that's the most important thing I've realized throughout this process.

I've spent much of my life trying to build environments where other people can thrive.

Now I want to build one where my family and I can do the same.

Not just a place to come home to.

A place that helps us come back to ourselves.