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Y O U R E Y E S O N L Y
W O R D S
Johannes Weissenbaeck
P H O T O
Daniel Koh
most homes are designed for stress—cluttered
spaces, bad acoustics, fluorescent lighting that
makes you feel like you're in an interrogation
room. Rhonda Patrick, biochemist and longevity
researcher, often talks about the power of
biophilic design—a fancy way of saying "surround
yourself with nature so your cortisol levels don't
go through the roof."
Natural materials, better airflow, greenery that
isn't just a sad houseplant gasping for survival—
these things matter.
Put Up a 'Do Not Disturb' Sign
Somewhere along the way, home stopped
being a refuge and became just another open
tab in the browser of life. WhatsApps chase
you from room to room. The group chats
demand responses. And before you know it,
you're lying in bed, doom-scrolling through a
heated debate about whether cold showers
are the secret to happiness. (Spoiler: they're
not, but they will make you question your life
choices.)
The problem? We're never off. We exist in a state
of low-grade, always-on hyperstimulation, and
it's frying our nervous systems.
So what if a home didn't just let you
disconnect—but actively helped you do it?
A sanctuary—as cliché as it sounds. The world
stays out, and you turn inward. Architecture
that doesn't just separate you from the noise
but actively shields you from the world. Walls
that absorb inner brain chatter like a well-
trained therapist. Floorplans that carve out
pockets of solitude—spaces where you can sit,
breathe, and let your brain finally exhale.
A Home That Pulls the Plug—for Your Brain
Real silence is nearly extinct. Bali is a constant
hum. Motorbikes rev. Geckos squeak. Even
when it's "quiet," it's not really quiet. And your
nervous system pays the price—studies show
that constant background noise keeps cortisol
levels subtly elevated, like a stress drip you
didn't sign up for.
The longevity home? It fights back. Layouts that
buffer quiet zones from social spaces. A home
where silence isn't just an absence of noise, but an
invitation to hear yourself think.
And then there's light. You already know blue light
at night wrecks your sleep, but what about the way
artificial lighting dictates your mood? Ever sat in a
room that made you feel like you were in an airport
security line? Exactly.
A longevity home adapts—warm, natural light
when you need it. Dim, cozy tones when your brain
is begging for a break. Windows that don't just
frame the view but change the way you feel about
the world outside.
The Digital Detox, Built In
And then there's the real problem: screens.
They're everywhere. The notifications, the endless
scrolling, the quiet but insistent pull of just
checking one more thing. The longevity home
doesn't ban technology—it's not a monastery—but
it does know when to intervene.
Imagine a Wi-Fi-off switch, not as punishment, but
as a reset button for your brain. A reading nook that
doesn't tempt you to check your inbox. A bedroom
where your phone charges anywhere but next to
your face.
Even something as simple as a total privacy
layout—your home can be open for guests, but it
can also cocoons you from the world outside. The
message is clear: this space is yours. The outside
world can wait.
Because longevity isn't just about adding years to
your life. It's about making sure those years feel
spacious, uncluttered, and truly yours.
What Does "Home" Even Mean Anymore?
Now, let's add another layer to this: the global
citizen lifestyle. Most of our community doesn't just
live in one place. They move between continents,
operate across time zones, and navigate the joys
of perpetual jet lag. Their version of "home" isn't
a static address—it's a network of places they
return to, each with its own rhythms, climates, and
challenges.
And that lifestyle takes a toll. If you've ever tried
to sync your body clock after a 15-hour flight, you
know what I mean. Sleep is erratic, meal times shift
unpredictably, and stress levels fluctuate between
"mildly chaotic" and "should I be concerned about
my heart rate?"
So what if a home could actively help smooth
those transitions?
Imagine a home that understands your travel
schedule. That adjusts lighting and temperature
to nudge your body into the right time zone. That
incorporates recovery spaces—like infrared saunas,
cold plunges, or meditation pods—to counteract
the physical strain of constant movement. A home
that isn't just a passive backdrop, but an active
participant in your global, well travelled livestyle,
helping you land and reset faster and better.
For global citizens, home isn't about permanence.
It's about having roots—a place that grounds
the system. A home should welcome you back,
recalibrate you, and prepare you for wherever
you're going next. It should be an anchor, not a
cage.
The Home as Your Longevity Wingman
Here's the thing: a home should feel effortless.
The goal isn't to make you think about longevity or
health every time you step inside—it's to make it
happen naturally, without you even noticing.
Because—let's
be
honest—the
best
health
interventions are the ones that don't feel like
interventions at all.
We don't have all the answers yet. But we're asking
the right questions. And if your Bali home can play
a role in how well—and how long—we live, I'd say
that's a thought worth thinking.
Now, excuse me while I go figure out if that
infrared sauna and a cold plunge really need to
be part of the design. (Spoiler: they do.)
• The Chameleon by OXO, Buwit, Bali
Architecture: WOM House
Photography: Daniel Koh