After nearly twenty years in this profession, I often find myself asking the same question at the beginning of every project: could I live here? It seems like a simple question, but it is the most honest test I know.

This isn’t just about whether a scheme meets its brief, though that is important, or whether the design works within its context. Instead, I focus on whether I can envisage myself walking through the space on a Tuesday morning, finding a shaded corner in the afternoon, and bumping into a neighbour, arriving at a sense that this place was thoughtfully created with someone like me in mind.

That question is at the heart of what Healthy Placemaking really means, and on this World Health Day, I find myself reflecting on what that responsibility truly asks of us as architects and designers to create places and spaces that foster wellbeing.

What are the principles of Healthy Placemaking? The concept is a collaborative planning approach that designs urban environments to actively support physical, mental and social wellbeing. Compact mixed-use urban structures that minimise the need to travel by car; streets that make walking and cycling pleasant and safe; parks, play facilities, gardens and allotments that improve our quality of life; essential community amenities and services; are all features of well-designed places that we should be planning to enable future generations to thrive.

When I think of a healthy place, I do not immediately refer to data or metrics. I think instead of a space where I feel enlivened, where the built environment harmoniously intertwines with nature. I imagine light filtering through the branches of trees and the grounding scent of leaves and fresh earth connecting us to the seasons. In the winer months, I admit to longing for spring; a reminder of how profoundly our wellbeing is intertwined with the natural world that surrounds us.

Another important aspect of a healthy place is the inspiration and curiosity it brings. There’s great joy in wandering through a neighbourhood and discovering it gradually, a courtyard that appears as you walk around a corner, a change in colour, a new texture underfoot, or a tree that only becomes visible when you stand beneath it. These spaces encourage exploration, offering something new to see and experience the deeper you venture. They invite you to stay awhile, take a deep breath and allow places to feel truly alive.

Often, it’s in these quiet moments of observation that I’m drawn to sketch what I see, whether that’s the changing rhythm of facades, the way light hits a brick surface, or the calm symmetry of a planted square. Drawing helps me slow down and notice those elements that make a space feel balanced and alive. For me, Healthy Placemaking begins with that same attentiveness, the design of places that invite people to pause, observe and connect with their surroundings.

This is my vision of Healthy Placemaking: not just a checklist of features, but a careful arrangement of space, nature, light and human experience designed so that wellbeing is something we inhabit effortlessly.

I’m sometimes asked whether this is all just personal taste, whether beauty and wellbeing are too subjective to design for. I don’t think they are. At its core, architecture is deeply technical, structural, regulatory and measurable. We work within the constraints of engineering, policy and material realities, yet when we design streets that invite walking, incorporate greenery and natural light, and craft spaces that encourage both spontaneous interactions and tranquil moments, we achieve something beyond compliance or calculation. We create conditions for wellbeing.

Research backs this up. Numerous studies show that access to daylight and greenery has benefits for both physical and mental wellbeing – significantly lowering stress levels, reducing blood pressure and improving cognitive functions. The design of pedestrian‑friendly streets has been shown to increase physical activity and strengthen social cohesion, and both are key indicators of community health.

In my own work, I’ve seen this first-hand. Working on a recent residential project, the inclusion of shared gardens and informal seating areas transformed how residents used the space. People started to garden together, parents lingered after school hours, neighbours who seldom spoke started chatting. These unplanned connections are where design meets lived experience. The child who runs happily in a well-designed park doesn’t need to be told it is good for them, just as the person who decides to walk a little further because the environment is pleasant enough to make that choice worthwhile.

These are the places that stay with me, encouraging me to slow down and take a closer look and often inspiring me to draw or paint what I see. Perhaps the best sign of a truly healthy place is its ability to inspire us to capture its beauty, to appreciate it and to share it with others. Healthy places start with a real understanding of the people who will live in them, encouraging us to keep exploring long after the design work is complete.