A few years ago, I heard Richard Gere speak at a Global Wellness Institute symposium about Xala, his regenerative development project on Mexico's Pacific coast. While discussing the importance of understanding local communities, he offered a simple piece of advice: “Go to the grandmothers.”
If you want to understand a place, listen to the people who have lived there, cared for it and passed their knowledge down through generations. That advice feels especially relevant today, as our conversations about health, longevity and the homes we live in become increasingly complex.
My own grandmother came to America from Germany with almost nothing except determination and a healthy dose of wanderlust. Growing up, I remember how every morning she opened the windows, even in the middle of winter. She shook out the featherbeds and aired the bedding, hung laundry outside in the sunshine and reached for lemon, baking soda or simple soap when something needed cleaning. She repaired and reused everything, and nothing ever went to waste.
This was simply how she cared for her home. She understood the value of fresh air and sunlight, how to make things last and how to make the most of what she had. There was a resourcefulness to the way she lived that I appreciate more and more as I get older.
“Perhaps the lesson isn't that our grandmothers had all the answers. It's that they knew how to live without needing an answer to everything.”
Lisa Sternfeld
Today, we have extraordinary tools to help us understand how our environments influence our health. We can measure indoor air quality, track our sleep, program lighting to support our circadian rhythms and monitor an ever-growing number of health metrics. Much of this is genuinely valuable, and science has helped us recognize environmental risks that previous generations couldn't see or fully understand.
But I also find myself questioning our growing appetite for optimization. When did living well become something we needed to constantly measure, track and improve? Even our homes, the places where we should feel most comfortable, can begin to feel like something we're constantly trying to fix.
In my work, I see tremendous value in bringing together traditional wisdom and modern innovation. We can invest in better ventilation while still appreciating the simple pleasure of opening a window when outdoor conditions allow. We can design sophisticated lighting systems while remembering to welcome natural daylight into our homes. We can make informed decisions about healthier materials while valuing the craftsmanship and longevity of things already made.
Perhaps the lesson isn't that our grandmothers had all the answers. It's that they knew how to live without needing an answer to everything. The best innovations give us greater freedom to enjoy our homes and the lives we create within them.
What did your grandmother teach you about caring for a home? Are there traditions or everyday rituals you've carried into your own life? I'd love to hear your stories. You can write to me at lisa@wllw.eco.
