Change of Scenery, Change of Self: The Transformative Power of Environment

There’s something deeply human about the way we fall into habits. We seek comfort, predictability, rhythm. But every so often, that rhythm becomes a rut—a loop we don’t even realise we’re stuck in. A self-made cage that can quietly shrink our potential, dull our awareness, and reinforce habits that don’t serve us.

Over the years, I’ve become acutely aware of the power that environment holds over mood, behaviour, and even relationships. I’ve always had this inherent urge to shift things around—move furniture, rotate the art on the walls, clear out a room and reimagine it from scratch. It’s not just a design preference; it’s a kind of soul hygiene. A way to break up stagnant patterns and reawaken creativity. Change doesn’t always have to be monumental. Sometimes just fresh flowers or an uncluttered room can spark something unexpected.

But environment goes beyond interiors. Geography matters. The emotional climate of a place can shape who we are, even how we speak, feel, eat, sleep.

Right now, I’m writing this from Red Hill, a green, hilly pocket of the Mornington Peninsula. We’ve come here as a family—partly for a break, partly in a quiet, intentional attempt to support our son through a tough time. And I can say this without exaggeration: it’s been miraculous. There’s been more communication, more ease, more lightness. It’s like we’ve stepped into a different version of ourselves—one that isn’t weighed down by the triggers and dynamics that seem baked into our usual environment.

We’re not just creatures of habit. We’re products of our spaces.

I think back to my childhood and visits to my Auntie Jean’s house in Mooroopna. Her home was a time capsule—unchanged for over 30 years. Same decor, same routines, same everything. As a child, it gave me a strange sense of comfort. It was predictable, safe. But now I wonder: did that unchanging environment contribute to a kind of emotional stagnation? Could her life have unfolded differently with just a few intentional shifts?

Fast-forward to now and I live in several different “universes”: our Melbourne home, our Bali sanctuary, the family getaway in Red Hill, and wherever we find ourselves when travelling. Each place brings out something different in me—different thoughts, different emotions, even different habits. The foods I crave, the music I listen to, how often I write or exercise—all of it changes depending on where I am. It’s fascinating. And telling.

Research backs this up. Studies in environmental psychology have long shown that our surroundings can directly impact stress levels, cognitive function, and even self-control. A 2008 study from the University of Minnesota found that physical clutter in the home was associated with increased cortisol levels and emotional exhaustion—while tidy, well-lit, and open environments improved focus and lowered stress. Similarly, research into “environmental enrichment” in animals (and increasingly, in humans) has shown that varied, stimulating environments can improve brain plasticity, mental health, and motivation.

Another concept I find compelling is “behavioral affordance”—the idea that environments nudge certain behaviours. A dark, cramped room makes you want to retreat. A sunlit space with open windows and fresh air invites movement, conversation, even hope.

If this is true—and I believe it is—then maybe we need to stop blaming ourselves so harshly when we feel stuck or unmotivated. Maybe it’s not just a lack of willpower or discipline. Maybe it’s also our context. The space we’re in. The dynamic we’ve built around us.

I once read a simple but profound framework for supporting someone who’s struggling. It suggested four key interventions: counselling, nutrition, education—and change of environment. That last one doesn’t always get enough attention. Yet I’ve seen its power again and again. Sometimes just taking someone out of their usual surroundings—out of the habits, the expectations, the unspoken emotional contracts of “home”—can be enough to break a toxic loop and offer a way forward.

Which brings me back to our son. A few years ago, on a trip to Japan, he lost almost 20 kg. His outlook shifted, his energy transformed. And then we returned home—and slowly, old patterns crept back in. That says a lot about the strength of environmental programming.

In four weeks, we return to Japan. I go with great expectation, and not just for the travel, food, or art. I’m hopeful for what it might awaken again in all of us. Travel isn’t an escape for me—it’s a recalibration. A chance to tune back into some higher version of ourselves that often gets muffled by routine.

In the end, change isn’t just therapeutic. It’s essential.

So here’s my gentle nudge to anyone reading this: If you’re feeling stuck, don’t just try harder. Try differently. Shift something. Rearrange the furniture. Walk a new path. Drive a different route to work. Or, if you can, go away for a few days. Sometimes the most profound healing doesn’t happen in therapy or through words—it happens quietly, when we’re no longer surrounded by the same invisible cues that hold us in place.

Change your space, change your story.