The Architecture of Arrival

ARRIVING HOME

We met in our mid-thirties, after having each lived lifetimes of our own. By the time our paths crossed, we had collected a mosaic of addresses across the Americas and the breadth of Europe. We are Third Culture kids, citizens of everywhere and nowhere, bound by a shared understanding that is difficult to explain to those who haven’t lived in the hyphen between cultures.

Our backgrounds carry a beautiful irony. My family, though North American by blood, spent decades in Latin America, where we deeply internalized the sobremesa. This ritual - the lingering, unhurried conversation after a meal - is more than just that; it is a testament to the slowness and joie de vivre found in Latin and European cultures. It is the embodiment of an idea that enjoyment lies in sitting, stabilizing, and connecting, not just in efficiency. His family, conversely, though of Latin origin, spent decades in North America mastering the relentless hustle that drives the American Dream. We meet in the middle, blending the ambition of the north with the rhythm of the south.

THE D.C. DECISION

Most recently, our blueprint has taken us to Washington, D.C.

This was not a simple move; it was a global calculation. We stood at a crossroads that wasn't just about "city versus suburbs”. It was about continents. We weighed the pull of Buenos Aires against the history of London and Madrid. We asked ourselves the hard questions: Where are the opportunities we cannot pass up? Where do we want to build the foundation for our children's early lives? Where will we find a network that shares both our drive and our values?

And perhaps most critically: How do we stay close to family as parents become grandparents and siblings build their own tribes? Our family is spread across the four corners of the United States, but we knew we needed a base that kept us within reach.

We chose D.C. because it was the only answer that satisfied the equation: it offers the proximity to family that we prioritize, while maintaining the vitality of an important global city and everything that has to offer.

THE SANCTUARY

Because we travel frequently for work - and across the country to visit that dispersed family - our apartment is not just a place to sleep; it is a sanctuary. It is our quiet space to organize our minds, recalibrate our goals, and double down on our work.

I cook almost every night, finding ground in the ritual of it. For us, going out to eat is never a default because we are too tired or indecisive; it is always an intentional choice to seek quality and experience.

But choosing the city meant the apartment had to balance this need for quiet with our draw to the bustling energy. Our non-negotiables were strict: A kitchen designed for serious cooking. A living room that spills onto a deck for entertaining. Walls of glass that open fully to invite the airiness of nature indoors. And a rooftop with views of the monuments for a daily, visual reminder of exactly where we are and why we chose to be here.

THE ART OF GATHERING

We also deliberately design our home for hosting, with a rhythm that plays to our disparate strengths.

For me, the joy is in the architecture of the event - the planning, the prepping, and the act of sharing freely without keeping score. A, on the other hand, is wary of the tedious logistics and the imbalance often found in modern hospitality. But once the door opens, his hesitation vanishes. He is the master of the welcome. He has an innate ability to anticipate a guest's needs before they do. And he possesses a rare gift for presence; I have never met anyone who absorbs what people say with such complete, genuine attention.

We balance each other perfectly. I handle the alchemy of the start - the mood, the food, the staging. He handles the alchemy of the moment - the comfort, the connection. After guests leave we do the cleanup together. It is not a chore; it is a shared responsibility to make our corner of the world right again. It is a quiet ritual of coming back to each other, restoring order to our space, and closing the chapter on the night, side by side.

CURATION MEETS MINIMALISM

Now, the work begins. We arrived with only our most essential pieces—art and heirlooms that survived the cut from New York. The rest is a blank canvas. We are currently navigating the negotiation between my love for collected decoration and A’s preference for clean, white minimalism.

This page is a chronicle of that process. It is not just about furniture; it is about the slow, deliberate layering of a life in a new city.