Environment as Determinant of Self

I'm living in a borrowed flat for a few months and have been
remembering something one of my University Professors said once in an art class about our environment creating us. This new place is like something out of an architectural digest item - clean and elegant and completely alien to my cluttered, dung beetle existence. The lay-out is open with prisitne lines and minimalist decor and has all the zen qualities that I long for in life and have up to this point seemed to elude me. Gregor Samsa in Kafka's marvelous story undergoes a terrible metamorphosis sinking back into an animal existence after a sexual slip that leaves the apple of knowledge rotting and embedded in his carapace. Dare I hope for the opposite kind of metamorphosis as I live in an entirely ordered and graceful environment? Will I even be able to work without the pressure of four walls closing continuously in on me? I fear that it will be too great a change all at once and rather than evolving slowly into a higher winged being, I will explode from the lack of oppressive atmosphere. At least the computer hook-up is in a small basement room where I can hide from my own progress/process or lack thereof.....

(This above is definitely not the environment I want to create me and perhaps an argument to the contrary of my Professor's claim! Interesting to see how some personalities remain unchanged regardless of the essentials!)