This isn’t about getting older. It’s about choosing what stays.
There are a lot of buzzwords floating around right now—intentional, mindful, curated. They show up in captions and captions of captions. But for me, “intentional” isn’t about branding. It’s about what your space says when no one’s listening.
I started thinking about it more seriously when I came home from college during the pandemic. I’d spent years shaping a space that was mine—fully mine. I painted walls, stacked books I thought made me look well-read, and dragged my mattress across the room one night just to feel like. I had control over something. It was messy, but it was mine.
Then I came back to my childhood bedroom. Same four walls, but now it held polka dot
remnants from middle school, an accent wall I painted in high school—a bold raspberry I swore made me look older—and a desk I’d dragged across the floor at least three times trying to make the room feel new. There’s still a chipped corner where it scraped the edge of that wall. New books were shoved in with old ones. My apartment’s footboard pressed up against the dresser I’d had since fifth grade. It was like every version of me was suddenly sharing the same 12x14 space.
That room forced me to slow down. Not in a peaceful way—at first. But in a what matters now? kind of way. And that’s where the idea of intention started to take shape for me.
Home doesn’t need to be precious or perfect. In fact, it probably shouldn’t be. The most
intentional spaces I know have uneven stacks of books. A chair that wasn’t supposed to stay but somehow became the place every guest ends up. They carry meaning, not messaging.
Intentionality isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about pushing back on default decisions—on filler furniture, on trend-chasing, on choosing something just because you’re supposed to like it. It’s learning how to say: this works for me, even if it doesn’t work for the moodboard.
When a space is intentional, it gives back.
It supports the version of you you’re trying to step into—not the one you’re trying to escape.
So if you’re in a season of change or clarity, start with the quiet stuff.
Which cup do you always reach for?
Which chair do you sit in without thinking?
That’s the home talking back.