As a 33-year-old interior designer juggling deadlines and insomnia, my nights felt like a battle between exhaustion and overthinking.
I'd stare at my clunky bedside lamp, its harsh glare mocking my need for calm.
Last month, after a client's brutal critique, I collapsed onto my patio chair, only to trip over tangled extension cords powering my "ambiance" string lights.
That moment crystallized my frustration: Why did creating peace demand so much effort?
A design colleague noticed my burnout and smirked. "You're using last decade's lighting," she said, handing me her table lamp.
Its warm gold cylinder glowed faintly, like molten honey. "Tap it. "
Skeptically, I brushed its cool metallic surface. The light softened instantly—a twilight hue that eased my pounding temples. Two more touches later, it brightened to daylight clarity, perfect for sketching patio layouts under the stars.
It was like something clicked. That one simple interaction transformed the space around me — calm, foucused, effortless.
