The Craft of Living, Part II: What The Holiday Taught Me About Creating a Home That Inspires You
As the season turns cozy, I’m reflecting on what makes a home feel comfy and creative, and on how to bring that leading-lady energy into our own spaces all year long.
November always feels like the season of home.
Here on the East Coast, the air has started to bite, the sweaters have come out of storage, and the streets are beginning to glow with the first signs of the holidays. In other words, Halloween has left the building, and it’s time for hot chocolate, pine-scented candles, twinkle lights, and rooms that feel cozy and merry.
Maybe that’s why this is the time of year when I think most about the craft of living.
We spend so much of the year moving through our homes on autopilot, but once the air turns cold, we start to slow down and make things beautiful. Candles appear on the tables, blankets are folded within reach, corners are rearranged, and little comforts return that make you want to linger.
For many of us, this season also brings back our favorite cozy films. The Holiday is one of mine. It follows two women, Iris and Amanda, who swap homes for the Christmas season to escape heartbreak. In their new surroundings, each finds unexpected renewal, love, and a deeper sense of self.
Released in 2006 and permanently etched into the millennial imagination, it is the movie that made every woman fall in love with Iris’s Rosehill Cottage in Surrey. You know the one: uneven stone floors, overstuffed chairs, stacks of books, and a fireplace that seems to understand you.
Every November and December, it circles back into our lives with its perfect blend of comfort and charm. Once upon a time, you could book a stay at the real-life cottage that inspired the film. Now, people have even recreated the cottage, not in Surrey, but in Georgia. I sent a reel about one to my interior designer friend recently because the details were on point, though, of course, without Jude Law.
What is it about that cottage that captures us so completely?
Part of its charm is that it feels like Iris herself. The uneven stone floors, the worn floral armchairs, the piles of books, and the mismatched teacups all mirror her warmth, her quiet intelligence, and the softness she has learned to protect. It is a space that holds her, one she retreats to when the world disappoints her, but also where she begins to find her strength again. Every detail feels personal, chosen, lived in. That is what makes it beautiful.
When I think about The Holiday, I don’t just see the story of two women switching homes. I see two women trying to find peace inside themselves. Iris’s Surrey cottage is a reflection of who she is becoming. It is calm but alive, filled with comfort and curiosity, a place that makes renewal possible.
There is a moment in the film when Iris finally stands up for herself and says, “You’re supposed to be the leading lady of your own life.” That line has stayed with me because it is about ownership. You cannot be the leading lady of your own life if the space around you drains you. You cannot create, rest, or even dream when your environment does not give you peace or reflect the person you want to be. Perhaps this is why ideas like Marie Kondo’s have resonated with so many of us. A home that feels aligned with who you are becoming naturally invites a sense of calm and confidence back into your life.
The craft of living begins with shaping your space to support your best and most creative self.
When you fill your home with objects, textures, and details that hold meaning, you begin to live with intention. Over time, I’ve learned that you don’t need to live in Surrey or have a Nancy Meyers budget to create that feeling. You can build it anywhere.
For me, it begins with small rituals. My room is covered in collages, layers of color, and paper that remind me of moments, words, and images that matter. I light candles when I write, their soft glow inviting me to slow down and pay attention.
On cool mornings, I wrap myself in my DC United blanket, take my journal to the deck, and sip tea or espresso—especially espresso, if I am leaning into my Portuguese side—as the sun rises. Those quiet, unhurried moments have become a kind of reset, a reminder that beauty and inspiration are already here, waiting to be noticed.
Creating spaces that hold you is not about perfection. It is about presence.
The goal isn’t to design a home that impresses but to create one that makes you feel grounded and alive.
Does your home make you exhale? Does it invite you to linger? Does it remind you of what you love?
Those questions have become part of my rhythm. When I’m rearranging my space, I ask:
What do I want this room to invite - rest, focus, inspiration?
What details make me feel at ease?
What can I remove to make room for what matters?
Does this space reflect who I’m becoming, not just who I’ve been?
I call it “enjoying my rent,” or choosing to live beautifully where I already am. Not waiting for the next home or the next season to make things lovely, but crafting a space that feels like it belongs to the story I’m living now.
If last week’s essay was about finding creativity out in the world, then this one is about coming home to that same feeling. A space that holds you doesn’t just protect you from the cold; it reminds you of your warmth.
As we move toward the holidays, when the world starts to sparkle a little more, I hope you’ll take a moment to notice your own corners. The light on your desk in the morning. The way a candle flickers beside a half-read book. The quiet of a room that feels like it’s listening. These small moments are the foundation of a life that feels intentional, beautiful, and lived on purpose.
Because the craft of living isn’t just about what you do—it’s about where you do it, and how it makes you feel to be there.
So, make your space cozy, yes, but also make it yours. Let it hold you, inspire you, and remind you that your life is something you are shaping every single day…
What would it look like if we lived this way all year?