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Six years ago, Marc Jacobs got a call about a house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Making it his own, he writes, would be about love, commitment, anxiety, patience, struggle, and, finally, a kind of hard-fought, hard-won peace.

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Almost six years ago, I received a phone call from a real estate agent with a particular specialty: unlisted, unique properties.

He didn’t say much, only that he represented a house designed by the legendary Frank Lloyd Wright, commissioned by the Austrian American automobile importer Max Hoffman, completed in 1955 and located about an hour from Manhattan. But the house wasn’t for just anyone, as its current owners would only sell to the right buyer.

At that time, I had all but given up on the idea of leaving the city. As a native New Yorker, I found the notion of trading my 56 years of metropolitan life for one outside more a source of stress than serenity. The idea of a second home felt burdensome, another layer of responsibility I wasn’t sure I wanted.

But Wright’s name stirred something in me. And with curiosity outweighing hesitation, I agreed to see it.

As I approached the house, my dearest friend Nick cautioned from the passenger seat to keep any enthusiasm to myself. “Don’t let the seller’s agent see too much excitement,” he advised. I nodded, promising to keep a lid on my emotions—something I’m rarely capable of doing.

That promise crumbled the moment I pulled into the driveway.

I passed through the porte cochere into the motor court, and it was as if the cement and steel of city life cracked open, letting in the first breath of fresh air I’d felt in years. I hadn’t even stepped inside, but I could feel it—this place was different, and genuinely one of the coolest houses I had ever seen. It was this sprawling single-floor layout with massive eaves hanging far over its stone walls. The eaves were interrupted by square cutouts revealing the open, expansive sky (also creating incredible architectural shadows on the ground). I then noticed the decades-old Japanese maple trees—as if perfectly managed and manicured by nature. They were so different than anything I remembered from growing up in the city.