Don’t be jealous, but I happen to live in a fabulous place.

To my mind, it’s a sanctuary: a haven perfectly appointed to comfort the body and nourish the soul. It forever provokes the wonder of others.

“Maybe you should, uh, put something up on your wall,” one friend recently remarked.

“Are you sure you’re not part of a terror cell?” asked another.

OK, so I lead a rich inner life. And a spare — fine, spartan — outer one. It’s not that I’m opposed to decor. I just never think about it.

I’m a renter, so I’m never much invested in a place. I’m also a journalist, which means my salary goes to things like good books and mediocre happy hours.

And I’m just not inclined. So my fantastically located, reasonably priced one-bedroom rental remained, shall we say, unblemished: walls the color of sand, lights to make a dentist’s office proud and not a nail hole in the joint.

There was, though, a swelling sense that at 29, I should live more like an adult. I could begin returning the favor to folks who’ve hosted me a thousand times, give or take.

But how to begin? These are questions faced by young renters and homeowners alike: How do you develop your own style? Where do you start? It seems like such a big undertaking and one in which you could easily err.

Local designer Karen Bengel agreed to do a few sessions of pro-bono advising. I gave her the full tour of my 500-square-foot apartment: bedroom, with bed and dresser; kitchen, with next to nothing; and all-purpose living and dining room, with a Craigslist-procured sofa set, two bookcases and a chairless dining table.

Then she probed: “So, tell me about yourself. ” And I rambled.

I just don’t know what I’m doing, so I ignore the whole thing and don’t really love shopping, so I don’t do it. And is everybody supposed to have a “style,” like “modern” or “traditional,” or whatever? Because I don’t think I was assigned one. And I don’t want to commit to anything, because who knows how long I’ll be here? And maybe admitting you need help is the first step on the road to recovery?

“Ummmmm, yeah,” she countered.

Bengel explained that every item we choose to have in our space should provoke a positive, sensual reaction. So you must be aware of what things have the power to elicit that innate response, she said. Filling up a place with furniture just for the sake of filling it up is as big a misstep as complete inaction.

She left me with two homework assignments: Think about what was pleasing in my home and what was uninspiring or worse. And consider how I use the apartment now and how I’d like to use it in the future.

The latter part was easy. I read, write, sleep, talk to people I love and find silence there. Eventually, it’d be nice to be able to seat two people at the table for brunch and not be embarrassed to have friends over.

On the other question, I found a disheartening view. I could count on one hand the objects that made me want to linger: a college photo of my mom; a print of a snow-covered bicycle that reminds me of home in upstate New York; a Georges Seurat coffee table book; a fuchsia-colored orchid, which was flourishing under my tender cultivation (i.e., water every six weeks when prodded by aforementioned mom); and the morning scene from my kitchen window seat: birds on a fire escape, Catholic school kids in the parking lot below.

“What struck me was the realization of how little you really need,” Bengel said at our next meeting. “It’s not about the quantity of stuff you have; it’s about the quality.”

Huh. They never mention that on Design on a Dime.

Based on what she thought was missing and what I wanted to do with the place, Bengel suggested I focus on four things: seating, lighting, color and shelving for books. My mission was to spend a day window-shopping: looking for chairs that would make my dining table functional, and a bench that would accommodate visitors.

The next day, an e-mail arrived with Bengel’s suggestion for bookshelves: sleek-looking glass and steel contraptions that would seem to dissolve into any room. Price: $200.

Wait, $200 per shelf? It seemed we’d forgotten to discuss that tiny matter of a budget. I wrote back that I hoped to spend $600 or so for the whole project.

“I think it’s fine to approach this with a $600 budget,” she replied. “The lesson here is to get the nicest, most meaningful thing(s) out of whatever your budget may be. If you have to spend some time saving to take the next step, so be it.”

Like an interior style swami, this one.

That weekend I shopped a stretch of stores that Bengel had recommended and that were close to my apartment, along streets of independent furniture stores. Takeaway lesson: there’s a lot not to like.

I mean that in a good way. Anything fancy, elaborate or modern-to-the-point-of-sterile didn’t get a second glance. That made the things I was attracted to stand out even more.

There was one chair that looked entirely nondescript, but when I sat in it, I was completely taken by its comfort. The Bellini Chair is $110, but I could see having it around for a long time.

The bench, picked because it could offer more seating without taking up much space, proved trickier. I wanted one that wouldn’t look as if it belonged at the front door of a Cracker Barrel. At Miss Pixie’s Furnishings & Whatnot there was a cedar number that looked as if it had been sliced from a tree, polished up and given legs.

I bought nothing that day, but I kept thinking about the cedar bench. After finding more so-so options the next morning, I went back to Miss Pixie’s to see if I was really into that bench or was just romanticizing it in retrospect.

It was still there, and I liked it even more than I remembered. But it had a new feature: a tag that read “Sold.”

Enough heartache. I was moving on to something guaranteed to be in stock: paint.

“Color has a degree of identity to it,” Bengel said at our next meeting. “It’s like making your mark on something.”

We’d already e-mailed about colors I’m drawn to (jewel tones, watery blues and grays), and she suggested I paint just a wall or two in each room to offset the ugly off-white. We settled on a violet for the bedroom and a pale blue that would wrap along the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen.

By the second coat of Benjamin Moore French Violet, I was in love. Rich, warm and not too feminine, it made my bedroom feel lush and alluring. But the blue: Once it was up, I couldn’t look at it. It somehow made the ugly off-white uglier.

Round two: a new slate-gray color that surrounds my sage couch and end table. It does what Bengel promised: makes the place a little more mine.

I’ve become a proselytizer of Bengel’s design doctrine: Be thoughtful about your environment. Bring into it only things you’re captivated by, which will continue to make you happy for a long time.

Truth is, this has so far been a Seinfeld episode of a home makeover. More than a month in, all I’ve got to show for the effort are 2.5 painted walls. But I’m on my way.

I did settle on those Bellini chairs, though they are back-ordered until fall. Bengel and I batted around lighting ideas, and she sent a link to a ceiling fixture that costs twice my rent and looks like it would require NASA technicians to install. A few nice lamps might be the way to go. And though I haven’t encountered a bench as alluring as the one at Miss Pixie’s, I feel confident that I’ll know the right one when I find it.

That confidence might be the biggest gain. I’m unstuck now, and intrigued. This is still a work in progress: both the apartment and my sensibility.

But on the upside, we’re way under budget.