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A Wee Bit of Scotland: What Gleneagles Taught Me About Living Beautifully
Updated: Aug 22
There are places you visit, and then there are places that somehow feel familiar before you can quite understand why. For me, Scotland was one of those places. From the moment we arrived, my first thought was surprisingly simple: it felt like home.
Now, as the temperatures begin to dip and the first hints of fall linger in the air, I find myself thinking back to our time in there. It’s been two years since that trip, yet somehow, the feeling of it remains so vivid. The slower pace, the crisp air, the beauty of the landscape, and that unmistakable sense of being somewhere both entirely new and strangely familiar.
This time of year always brings me back there now. There is something about the arrival of fall, the cooler mornings, the changing light, and the desire to slow down that reminds me of Scotland and, especially, our time at Gleneagles.
Gleneagles was conceived more than a century ago as a place to escape the frenetic pace of city life; to retreat into the countryside, enjoy good food, fresh air, sport, and beautiful surroundings. When it opened in 1924, it was described by the press as the “eighth wonder of the world” and the “Riviera in the Highlands.” Today, it remains a sprawling 850-acre estate in Perthshire, surrounded by the Ochil Hills and designed around the idea of leisure, adventure, and simply enjoying being there. And perhaps that is what I recognized.
Not just the beauty of the place, but the feeling behind it.
Our trip to Scotland was filled with castles, historic buildings, beautiful meals, countryside, architecture, and experiences I know I'll remember for the rest of my life. But somewhere along the way, I realized that Scotland was teaching me something I didn't expect to bring home:
A beautiful life isn't necessarily about having more. Sometimes, it's about noticing more.
The Glorious Playground
We stayed in Auchterarder, at the Gleneagles Hotel, one of the highlights of our time in Scotland.
The property is enormous, but somehow it never feels overwhelming. There are golf courses, tennis, horses, falconry, gardens, walking paths, restaurants, bars, and countless opportunities to be outside.
Gleneagles itself describes the estate as its “Glorious Playground,” and after spending time there, the name makes perfect sense.
What I found fascinating was that the idea of Gleneagles as a playground isn't new.
The original vision came from Donald Matheson, general manager of the Caledonian Railway Company, who was inspired by the Perthshire countryside and envisioned a grand country-house hotel with golf courses. The golf courses actually came first. The King's and Queen's courses were created before the hotel opened and the railway played an important role in bringing guests to this countryside escape.
When the hotel finally opened on June 7, 1924, its opening ball was broadcast across the country by the BBC. It was glamorous from the beginning. What I love most about that history is that the original purpose wasn't simply to create a beautiful hotel. It was to create a place to live differently for a while. That idea feels remarkably modern.
When Grand Still Feels Like Home
The architecture is stunning, but it was the interiors that captured me immediately.
Earth tones are layered with jewel tones. Wallpaper, tile, carpet, molding, textiles, antiques, and pattern all work together. There are florals, stripes, plaid, horses, dogs, pheasants, and other nature-inspired details throughout the property.
There is a lot happening, and yet it doesn't feel busy. It feels collected. That distinction stayed with me. As an interior decorator, I am always interested in why a room works. Not just why it photographs well, but why you actually want to sit down in it. Gleneagles understands that beautifully.
The scale is grand, but the rooms are cozy. There are fireplaces and comfortable seating. Patterns are layered with solids. Hard surfaces are balanced with soft textiles. Color is used with confidence, but never without purpose. There is history in the architecture, but the spaces don't feel like museums. They feel lived in. And that, to me, is where luxury really begins.
Not in having the most expensive things, but in creating an environment that makes you want to stay.
Our room was cozy and inviting, with a king bed, beautifully tiled bathroom, clawfoot soaking tub, separate shower, molding, and antique mirrors. The wall molding was monochromatic, while the soft furnishings introduced pattern and texture. The palette and details felt connected to the landscape: natural, layered, slightly playful, and still unmistakably elegant. Our view looked toward the tennis courts and the rising sun, with the exterior of the property stretching out around us. I loved everything about it.
I came home wanting to turn our house into Gleneagles.
Not literally (or maybe!) But, I definitely wanted that feeling. A home that feels collected rather than purchased all at once. A home with layers. A home with texture and history. A home where beautiful things don't have to be precious.
The Luxury of Taking Your Time
One of the most significant things I noticed in Scotland that had very little to do with decorating was how time passed.
Meals were slower, and I mean that in the best possible way. There wasn't a sense that our table needed to be turned quickly. We could sit, talk, finish our meal, order another drink, and simply enjoy being there. The servers were attentive without constantly interrupting us.
No one seemed to be watching the clock, and man did we eat!
At Gleneagles, we enjoyed dinner at The Strathearn, including a six-course meal, along with breakfast and drinks at several of the property's other restaurants and bars.
The Strathearn itself has been part of Gleneagles since the hotel's opening in 1924. Today, it retains its candlelit atmosphere and live piano, pairing that old-world setting with modern Scottish fine dining. That combination of old and new appeared everywhere.
Even the American Bar is intentionally rooted in the glamour of the 1920s, when Gleneagles first opened, while still functioning as a lively place to gather over cocktails. It made me think about how often we try to recreate “timeless” design by stripping everything away. However, timeless doesn't necessarily mean minimal. Sometimes timeless means knowing what deserves to stay.
A beautiful room can have history, pattern, ornament, color, and personality and still feel completely current. Maybe especially because of those things.
A Different Pace of Life
The slower rhythm continued beyond Gleneagles.
In Edinburgh, people seemed to coexist naturally within the city just like that concept of new and old. There were cobblestone streets, music, vendors, open storefronts, modern shops tucked into historic architecture, colorful homes, and people simply moving through their day. The architecture seemed to tell the story of where you were and what came before. Stone buildings. Old streets. Cemeteries. Castles. Buildings that felt older than time. And yet they were still part of everyday life.
That was one of the things I loved most about Scotland: history didn't seem separated from the present. A “recently renovated” building could mean it had work done in the 1700s. History was simply there, in everything. People lived around it. Walked beside it. Ate beside it. Worked beside it. They enjoyed it.
And that made me think about our own homes. We often want everything to be new.
New furniture. New finishes. New trends. But what if a home becomes more interesting when we allow it to carry some evidence of where we've been.
A vintage mirror.
A piece of art with a story.
A table inherited from someone we love.
A textile collected during a trip.
A worn piece that we don't replace because it reminds us of something.
Those are the things that make a home personal.
Where History Still Lives
We visited Edinburgh Castle, Stirling Castle, Glamis Castle, and Scone Palace, and each one offered another lesson in how beautiful spaces can evolve without losing their identity.
The stonework was incredible. The fireplaces were enormous. Woodwork was intricate and often appeared hand-hewn. Textiles layered hard and soft, warm and cool, natural and patterned. Wallpaper appeared confidently, often in rich earth tones and jewel tones. And the scale was extraordinary.
Great halls. Ballrooms. Courtyards. Gardens. Every room you except a fairytale castle to have. Rooms designed for gathering. Rooms designed for ceremony. Rooms designed simply for living. I found myself looking at all of it through a designer's eyes, but I also found myself thinking about something much bigger than decorating. These spaces had stories. And those stories made them beautiful.
That may be one of my favorite design lessons from Scotland: A beautiful space doesn't have to look new to feel luxurious. Sometimes the marks of age are what give it soul.
And Then There Was the Mills Name
Of all the places we visited, the Scottish National War Memorial inside Edinburgh Castle affected me the most. If not entirely because of my dad.
I had always been told that we have Scottish heritage on my father's side. My great-great-grandparents were said to have been born in Scotland, and my father firmly believed that our family was Scottish. My maiden name is Mills, Ancestry shows the connection, and not to mention both my dad and my brother are declared Scottish Lords (thanks to two 12x12 plots of land purchased on their behalf).
During our visit, I mentioned this to our tour guide (not the Lord thing) and told her that I believed we had Scottish ancestry. Her response was essentially, Mills? Are you sure that isn't more English?
She was Scottish herself, so I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I had misunderstood the family story. I really didn't want my dad to have been wrong. I lost my father five years ago, and he had always been so confident in our Scottish connection.
So anyway, I carried that little bit of doubt with me as we continued through Edinburgh Castle.
Eventually, we came to the Scottish National War Memorial.
Out of respect, we were told that we couldn't touch anything or take photographs inside. Among the artifacts inside the memorial are The Rolls of Honour. Red leather-bound books and sealed caskets containing the names of fallen Scottish soldiers, sailors, nurses, and civilians. Although you could not touch The Rolls yourself, if you wanted to look for a particular relative, you could ask an attendant to help you. I didn't have a particular name to search for. So instead, I wandered.
It was incredibly quiet inside despite all the people wandering about. I took in the beautiful memorial and the weight of the space around me. I noticed an open journal and I walked over out of curiosity, simply to see the type of information these books contained.
It was open to the letter M. (okay universe, you have my attention). And there, right in front of me, were atleast seven entries for Mills. I gasped, probably louder than I should have because my husband immediately came over to shush me. I pointed to the book and we just looked at each other.
The odds of that happening after the conversation I'd had with our guide less than an hour earlier felt almost impossible. Was it proof? Maybe not. Believe what you will. But I have no doubt that, for me, it felt like a sign. A little message from my dad (sorry I doubted you!).
That magical moment was when Scotland stopped feeling like somewhere we were simply visiting and started to feel a wee bit more personal.
The Glen Turret Experience
The visit to Glen Turret Distillery was another unexpected favorite.
It felt small and tucked away, which made it even more fascinating when we learned just how much Scotch is produced there and about its history as Scotland's oldest continuously operating distillery. I don't particularly love Scotch, that is my husband’s thing, but I loved learning about it.
We learned how its made, that a little water can soften the burn, and we heard about blends and bottles that can reach extraordinary prices. What stayed with me wasn't the price tag, it was the craftsmanship. The patience. The process.
The idea that something can be made slowly, carefully, and intentionally, and that the history of how it was made becomes part of its value.
That concept extends far beyond whiskey.
A Dinner With Royal History
Dinner aboard the Royal Yacht Britannia was another experience that felt like stepping into another world.
The event was grand and banquet-style, with beautiful china, fine cutlery, and the personal belongings of the royal family still throughout the ship. We walked the same halls and ate in the same rooms where the royal family had spent time. But once again, what fascinated me most was the design.
The interiors didn't feel like what I expected a historical yacht to look like. They felt like a home.
There was wallpaper, molding, familiar domestic details. Even another Rolls-Royce.
It was nostalgic, grand, and intimate all at once.
And once again, I found myself thinking about how much our surroundings influence the way we experience life. The spaces around us tell us how to behave:
A beautifully set table encourages us to linger.
A comfortable chair encourages conversation.
A fireplace draws people together.
A beautiful view asks us to stop and look.
Good design doesn't simply make life prettier. It makes certain ways of living easier.
The Moments We Didn't Plan
When I think about our favorite memories from the trip, surprisingly, not all of them involve castles or beautiful interiors. Honestly, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t consider a favorite.
Actually, the whole anchovies (with eyeballs) that came spread across my caesar salad was definitely not a favorite, but it made for a memory!
We saw the Northern Lights directly overhead for the first time. We found the Mills name. We wandered the city with friends who let me indugle in my Potterhead nerdiness. We visited a cemetary established in 700ad with structures that are still standing. And we had a guided tour at Glamis Castle with the funniest little tour guide, who made the experience even more memorable (thanks Euan). He’s pictures above for your viewing pleasure.
Those are the moments I keep coming back to.
The moments that weren't necessarily about checking something off a list.
They were simply moments we were present enough to experience. That is what we loved most about Scotland, it gave us permission to slow down.
What I Brought Home
I came home from Scotland wanting to change things. Not because I saw one particular room or piece of furniture I needed to recreate (I mean, I absolutely did), but I came home with a different understanding of what I want our home and our life to feel like.
I want things to feel collected rather than purchased all at once. I want old things to have a place alongside new things. I want more texture. More pattern, warmth, and stories. I want our home to feel like it has lived a little.
Even more than that, I wanted to take a little of Scotland's pace home with me.
To linger over dinner, notice the details, make time for conversation, and to appreciate the view.
To stop thinking that everything has to be accomplished, documented, or optimized. There is something beautiful about simply being where you are. Which might just be the greatest luxury of all.
Gleneagles was originally imagined as a place to step away from the hurried pace of everyday life. More than a century later, that idea still feels remarkably relevant. Scotland reminded me that a beautiful life isn't necessarily about having more. Sometimes it is about noticing more:
The beauty in an old stone wall.
The warmth of a fireplace.
A long dinner with someone you love.
A beautifully layered room.
A story passed down through generations.
A name appearing in a journal at exactly the right moment.
A husband standing beside you under the Northern Lights.
These are the things that make a place stay with you.
And I think that's what I carried back from Scotland most of all. Not a particular decorating style, but a feeling. A desire to live a little slower. To surround ourselves with things that have meaning, appreciate what is old and allow it to live beautifully beside what is new, and to create a home that doesn't just look beautiful, but feels like it has a story worth telling.
I think that is why Gleneagles felt like home from the moment we arrived. I wasn't simply recognizing the design, I was recognizing the feeling that came with it.
Until next time Friends, stay gold!
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