The Breaker Times

While Wit & Delight has been quieter for a year now, I’ve been writing more than ever. As I’ve slowed down my publishing cadence, my curiosity about the way we live—and why—has ripened. I’m fascinated by what sits below the veneer of aesthetics—how we decorate our spaces, who we let in, and who we keep out. Most importantly, I’ve reconnected with what it means to delight in our own way of living. 

The act of writing about these experiences has been deeply transformative for me. It’s brought up conversations with readers I would have never had in short-form, visual-based content. This is what I love most about Substack. 

While I continue to share lifestyle content and the occasional personal essay here on Wit & Delight, I also publish weekly on House Call, a Substack newsletter in which I explore why our homes—and the lives we lead inside their walls—matter so much. For new or longtime readers who haven’t found their way to House Call quite yet, I encourage you to peruse this body of work. 

Below is an exclusive excerpt from a recent House Call essay, “In Favor of a Quiet Home Life.” Opting for a quieter life in the face of an increasingly noisy world felt like career death for my lifestyle brand—but one I desperately needed for myself. I wrote about making room for emptiness, enjoying simple pleasures, and delighting in quiet moments at home. I hope you enjoy the essay and join me over on Substack. 

House Call is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. To all who have already subscribed, thank you!

House Call Excerpt: In Favor of a Quiet Home Life 

Amid the repetitive rhythm of daily life, one of my favorite indulgences is the act of daydreaming. Ever since I was a child, I have found myself wandering freely through the realms of imagination. What started with a subconscious need to soothe myself, at its best, has proven fertile ground for a rich inner life. The mundane becomes magical, and the ordinary is transformed into the extraordinary. My daydreaming has given way to lucid dreaming and sometimes these images are so vivid, reality pales in comparison. 

When I gained the nickname “Spacey Katie” for wandering in my mind during academic lessons, dance classes, and softball games, I learned my tendency to remove myself from the here and now wasn’t exactly helping me navigate social settings. Like most introverts, I saw my natural state as “less” than—something to “fix” to excel in this world. 

But lately, I’ve found myself making more room for introversion. This winter was deafeningly quiet in all areas of my life, a sort of magic dark that felt intentional. Like space had been made to come home to this part of myself. I didn’t have my usual escapes: my creativity felt stunted, schedules were bare-bones, and indulging in alcohol and food just made me feel worse. My intuition was telling me to take the quiet and just be with the emptiness. I soon came to realize this emptiness was life-giving.

How Delight and Home Life Intersect

As I gradually opened up to this call toward introversion, I kept coming back to how delight and a quiet home life intersect. It was where I had given myself time to learn to be OK with things as they were, to rehabilitate my petulance for more, more, more.

These little tasks—these overlooked, underrated, simple pleasures (warm toast with tea in a sunsoaked chair for example)—were doing more for my mood and sense of well-being at home than churning away at project after project. I started wondering if it is even possible to enjoy our homes if we don’t know how to find pleasure in just being. All the paint colors, wallpapers, and patterns cannot be translated into an inner sense of permission to sink into yourself through the pleasure of simply being home. 

This delight I’ve been chasing since 2009 was never going to reveal itself through self-improvement or cookie-cutter advice from a magazine on how to decorate my house. In fact, I don’t think there is a manual at all. When designing a life well-lived, one has to be brave enough to let go of the personas, masks, and armor they’ve accumulated. Perhaps releasing what isn’t ours and letting things die that weren’t meant for us is the only way to design a life that feels like home. Unfortunately, this process isn’t a path lined with candy-colored daisies but one that more so resembles a walk through Death Valley. 

I started wondering if it is even possible to enjoy our homes if we don’t know how to find pleasure in just being. All the paint colors, wallpapers, and patterns cannot be translated into an inner sense of permission to sink into yourself through the pleasure of simply being home. 

This week on House Call, I want to touch on the power of our homes beyond the way they look. The inspiration for this post came from years of working on my home but not necessarily feeling good in the spaces I was creating. When I asked myself what makes me feel most content and delighted at home, what revealed itself surprised me.

What a Quiet Home Life Represents for Me

Spaces that remain constant.

It’s important to have places in my home I’m no longer actively updating—rooms I simply let be. It is a practice that brings me both comfort and a sense of peace. These spaces, which include my bedroom, kitchen, and office, have evolved to reflect my changing needs and preferences. While I still make occasional adjustments, I have decided to intentionally refrain from making significant changes to these rooms unless there is a clear need for an update. . . .

These spaces have become more than just rooms in my home. They’ve become extensions of myself, reflecting my personality, values, and aspirations. By allowing them to be, I allow myself to appreciate the beauty and comfort of the present moment without the constant need for change.

Paid House Call subscribers can read the rest of this essay—and so much more. Support this creative endeavor of mine and become a paid subscriber by clicking here.