Road to Home | October 2026
Design Notes from the Road
I just returned from two weeks in Paris, Morocco, and London, and if you’ve been following along on Instagram, you already know I photographed approximately every door I walked past. I’m sure there were a few I missed, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.
There were tiled courtyards, winding staircases, beautifully worn wood, handwoven rugs, and architectural details that made a simple walk take considerably longer than planned. For an interior designer, it was an incredible amount of inspiration to take in.
But now that I’m home, sorting through photos and finding places for the treasures that came back with me, I keep thinking about something beyond the interiors themselves: the ways I saw people enjoying the spaces around them.
An afternoon worth sitting down for
In Paris, I loved the cafés. Of course I admired the chairs, the little tables, and the way even a small corner could feel inviting. But I also loved sitting there, sipping wine, eating soupe à l'oignon gratinée (French onion soup), and watching the passersby on the street.
Around me, people lingered over espresso and cigarettes or sat talking in the middle of the afternoon. Dinner could stretch late into the evening. From my seat at the table, there seemed to be room to enjoy being there.
I was visiting, of course. I didn’t know what responsibilities were waiting for the person beside me or what their day had looked like before they sat down. A vacation gives us a particular view of a place, and I wouldn’t pretend that a few days in Paris taught me everything about French life.
Still, those afternoons stayed with me. I’m used to having something else I could be doing, and usually a list to prove it. Sitting at a café with nowhere I needed to be for a while felt wonderful. I enjoyed my food, noticed the buildings across the street, and watched people going about their day.
I know being on vacation made that easier. But it made me think about how often, at home, I’m already moving on to the next thing before I’ve really enjoyed what’s in front of me. I’d like to remember those afternoons when I’m back in my own routines and give myself a little more time to linger.
A table in the mountains
In Morocco, we shared lunch with a local Berber family who welcomed us into their home in the Atlas Mountains. We sat on the terrace of their home, overlooking a view I could have happily spent the entire afternoon admiring, while they served a generous meal of tagines with fruits and meats and olives, sides, dessert, and tea.
What I remember most is the care. The best dishes brought out for company, the food prepared for us, and the space made for everyone around the table. Their home felt personal and cared for, and being welcomed into it was one of the most meaningful experiences of the trip.
We also learned about families making room in their homes for another generation, sometimes leaving an entire upper level unfinished until their children grew up, married, and moved in with families of their own. It made me think about how differently we can understand space. A home shared across generations can represent closeness, continuity, and the future someone hopes to build.
I caught myself considering some of what I saw through the lens of what I’m accustomed to having. Then I started questioning that lens. Having fewer things than I’m used to seeing doesn’t tell me how someone feels about their home or whether they consider their life abundant. More space and more possessions aren’t everyone’s priorities.
I was a guest for an afternoon. I couldn’t know the full picture of their lives, but I could recognize their generosity and admire the way they welcomed us into them.
The standards we bring with us
At one point on the trip, our guide, Zaid, spoke about travel expanding our own borders. That thought has stayed with me because I’m beginning to understand how much it can mean.
Travel makes us more aware of how much our surroundings have shaped what feels normal to us.
We develop ideas about how much space we need, what a beautiful home looks like, which things are worth keeping, and what we should be working toward next. Those ideas come from our families, our communities, the homes we grew up in, and the images we see every day. Over time, they can become so familiar that we forget there are other ways to think about them.
Then we sit at someone else’s table.
Perhaps that’s one way travel expands our borders: we become less inclined to measure everyone’s life by the standards we’ve inherited.
We can appreciate a home without imagining how we would change it. We can admire a different way of living without needing to adopt it ourselves. And we can come home with a broader understanding of what a beautiful, full life might look like.
Bringing that perspective home
I still love a beautifully designed room. This trip certainly did nothing to cure my enthusiasm for textiles, lighting, or an exceptionally detailed and patinated doorway. I came home with plenty of ideas I’m excited to bring into projects.
But it also reminded me to keep asking how a space will be enjoyed.
Designing around the way people live has always been central to my work. What travel adds is a wider frame of reference, along with a thousand details I’m excited to draw from: the colors in a handwoven rug, the mix of patterns in a courtyard, the pottery on a beautifully set table. I’m interested in how those details can find a natural place in a client’s home, shaped by their own taste and the life they lead.
Personally, the trip reminded me to enjoy the spaces I’ve already put so much thought into. I spend plenty of time helping other people create homes they love. It was good to come home and remember to slow down and appreciate my own, too.
At home, it can be as simple as using the dishes you love on an ordinary evening, having your coffee in your favorite chair, or inviting someone over before you’ve finished every project on your list. You’re allowed to enjoy your home while it’s still evolving. Most of ours are.
As October winds down and I settle back into life in Minnesota, I’m grateful for the home I returned to. I don’t feel the need to reinvent it or myself. I do want to give the life I’ve built a little more of my attention, even while I’m excited about what comes next.
Over the next few months, I’ll be sharing more Design Notes from the Road: the materials, colors, spaces, and experiences that inspired me, and how those ideas can find a place in our homes here.
For now, I keep coming back to the same question: what’s something you already love about your home that you’d like to give yourself more time to enjoy?
—Jordan
Lennox Road Interiors
