These Are the Good Old Days

What is Experiential Hospitality with Isaac French?

This is the audio version of my weekly newsletter, Experiential Hospitality, where I share stories and insights to help you craft unforgettable spaces and experiences through design & hospitality.

These are the good old days.

I've designed a number
of spaces I'm proud of.

People have seemed to resonate with
them, but I'm driven and it's easy

to dream wistfully of the project.

You know, the one that will
really make a mark call me trite.

But here's the truth, the greatest,
most beautiful projects in my

life are already well underway.

They're living in my house
24 7, sharing my last name.

The care I put into building a
place is nothing compared to the

craftsmanship of raising a child.

It's a life's work, and
boy, there's a lot to learn.

Each day, Helen and I get to work on
their character house, laying a foundation

of love and trust, unlocking doors and
dreams that will set their life's course

in hospitality and real estate terms.

Lucas and Ezra don't care about
branding ROI or occupancy rates.

They care about bedtime stories
with dad, about time on the

swing, about being cheered down
the tallest slide in the park.

They care about being with us and every
day we are curating and environment

for them to thrive, shaping experiences
they'll carry for a lifetime.

It wasn't like we planned it
out this way, but I'm grateful.

The sacrifices to launch Live Oak Lake
a hundred plus hours per week for a

year happened before Lucas was born.

I still work a ton, but in a
different gear Building the nook

just behind our house and making a
livelihood from it means I'm never

more than 30 seconds from my family.

Makes me smile.

Just typing that out.

My dad, a plumber with a small business,
kept his office in our front yard.

He was at breakfast every morning,
sometimes lunch too, and when he had

to go to town, he'd rotate through
all of us kids, taking us with him

for the afternoon, whenever possible.

That left a mark.

Now Ezra is seven months old, fat,
cheerful, and on the verge of crawling.

For non-parents, that means plenty
of time on the floor, grunting and

screeching, and frustration at toys.

He's pushed just out of reach.

He also hasn't figured out how to
sleep for more than an hour at a time.

Helen is an angel.

I don't know how she does
everything on so little sleep.

Most mornings I wake to find the
little man and sometimes his big

brother too, sleeping between us.

His round rosy cheeks plopped against
my pillow, or I open my eyes to

meet his grinning ear to ear or
to a poke from a chubby finger,

followed by a fierce little giggle.

Mission accomplished Dad when he's upset,
which is more often than I'd like, his

screams startle me in their ferocious.

But moments later, once his all
important need has been met by his

dutiful servants, actually parents,
his soft coups melt me and I'm

babbling to him a jumble of nonsensical
adoration, raising little kids.

So much work, so much.

Wonderful wonder, isn't
that the right word?

Lucas is two.

And every day he engages in new ways with
us, his little brother and the world.

His knowledge seems to grow
like compound interest.

Always something new.

Endless curiosity.

All the beauty in the world starts at
home around the dinner table, at the

toddler's bedside, just before the
light goes out or in the messiness of

a room full of toys well played in.

I promise you.

Just look through the eyes
of a child and you'll see it.

Everything I do projects, work, trips,
the orchard, our homestead, our community.

Is for our boys.

If it's not, it's not worth doing.

So here's the simple message
of what I'm learning.

If you want to do something that
matters, something that can really

make a mark, do it for someone else.

Your kids, your spouse, your
friends, your guests, your neighbor.

That's where I find unending
joy and inspiration.

I love you, Lucas and Ezra.

Everything I do, I do it for you.