• To become homeowners sooner, my wife and I bought a house with her parents.
• At first, navigating the space wasn't easy, but we're still able to have ample privacy.
• Living with my in-laws has its challenges, but I can't imagine living anywhere else.

I've known my wife's parents for nearly a decade, and we've always gotten along, but I never imagined sharing a roof with them. That all changed last year, when my wife suddenly popped the question: "How would you feel about buying a house with my mom and dad?"

We knew it would be years before we could afford the down payment on a house, particularly anywhere near Frederick, Maryland, where we wanted to live.

Even though we were both lawyers in our late 30s, we didn't have as much saved as we should have. We had each chosen lower-paying work over big-firm jobs and lost financial ground during our divorces in the late 2010s.

Without the help of my in-laws, my wife and I would've had to wait another decade or so to buy a house. But if we purchased a place together, her parents would provide the down payment, and we would cover more than half of the mortgage.

So, just like that, I agreed to become roommates with my in-laws.

The house gave all of us the space we needed, but we still had to learn how to share it

When we began our search, we envisioned a duplex — two separate living spaces joined together — but we had a hard time finding one.

We struggled even more to find a house with bedrooms on both the first and second floors, something crucial for my in-laws, since they're in their late 60s, and we didn't want them worrying about climbing stairs now or as they get older.

After several months of looking, we finally found a place that checked all the boxes: a 1950s one-story house that the previous owner had renovated to add a second floor and a finished basement.

The upstairs, where my wife and I would live, had three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a laundry space. Downstairs, where my in-laws would live, was the main kitchen and living room, a small den, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small back kitchen.

There was enough space for all four of us — along with our two cats, our dog, and their dog — so we put in an offer.

For the first couple of months after moving in, the house was a sea of boxes, and it seemed almost impossible that we could cram all four lives into one place.

My wife and mother-in-law argued about the furniture we needed to get for the shared spaces, and we debated back and forth about what to do with the back kitchen, which we ultimately decided to convert into a laundry/mud room.

As time went on, we also had to get used to the quirks of living together. My wife works from home, which means she has to go downstairs to the main kitchen and interact with her parents before she can fully wake up. Luckily, we've just converted the upstairs laundry space into a little kitchenette, so now she can make her morning smoothie in peace.

Additionally, I learned to put on my dress shoes only when I'm on my way out of the house in the morning, as I had previously been startling my in-laws awake by clomping around in the closet just above their bedroom.

But even though we're all in the same house, my wife and I still feel like we have ample privacy. Our bedroom is large, and my in-laws don't really spend much time in the basement, so sometimes, we like to hang out there as well.

Thankfully, expenses haven't been an issue, since we split most day-to-day purchases right down the middle by contributing to a joint bank account.

Living together has made everyday life easier in ways I didn't expect

Despite the challenges, sharing a home with my in-laws for the past eight months has been great.

My mother-in-law graciously offered to make dinner most nights, so we can all sit down and have a home-cooked meal as a family. When we go out of town, my in-laws watch our dog and our cats.

Once we have children, grandma and grandpa will be right there to help, and as my in-laws get older, we'll be right there to assist them.

Obviously, there are times when we annoy each other, but I've gotten to know my in-laws much better since we became roommates. The arrangement has turned us into a family and given us more financial security, and the plan is never to move again.

• My husband and I live in a separate house on the same property as my parents and siblings.
• Our unique living arrangement has come with lots of surprises along the way.
• Even though we live so close to each other, we have boundaries and our own separate lives.

In 2024, my husband and I began building our own house on the same property as my parents, siblings, and sister-in-law, creating a "family compound." In total, there are two separate houses, nine family members, and three adorable golden retrievers on the property.

Our family has always spent a lot of time together, but before moving into our new home in April, I don't think I truly understood what day-to-day life would be like.

Here are the biggest surprises I've encountered so far.

My family and I still have our own separate lives.

Although my husband, daughter, and I live next door to the rest of my family, we still have our own houses, routines, and lives. Some days, when we all happen to be on different pages, we don't see each other at all.

I think this balance is a huge part of what makes our setup successful. No one feels as though they are on top of each other, and my husband and I can simply take our daughter to our house, close the door, and be our own little family.

Privacy and boundaries are still possible, even when living so close together.

For us, one of the keys to making our living arrangement successful is respect for personal space and boundaries.

For example, my younger siblings don't come over to my house after about 8:00 p.m. because they know my daughter is asleep and my husband and I are likely settling in for the night. This isn't something we ever had to ask them to do, they just respect our privacy and nightly routine.

The same goes for my parents. They text my husband and me before popping over to visit and always avoid walking into our house unannounced.

A lot of people don't seem to understand multigenerational living.

Since sharing our family compound on social media, I was taken aback by how many people assumed that our family was part of a religious group or separate "community," rather than our setup being an example of multigenerational living.

I knew that "family compounds" aren't incredibly common nowadays, at least in the United States, but I definitely didn't think they were so widely misunderstood.

People appear to confuse our setup with communal living, rather than our family simply living as neighbors next to each other.

Casual get-togethers and dinners happen spontaneously.

I've been pleasantly surprised by how much easier casual get-togethers, dinners, and hangouts are.

I can just pop over to my parents' house and then "head home" whenever I want to. I don't need a reason to leave or an excuse to use if I'm just not feeling social.

We also don't typically find ourselves planning get-togethers; they just kind of happen. I can wake up on a Saturday morning with no plans, and within an hour, everyone is hanging out by the pool, playing yard games, and cooking food together.

Having my family around has really improved my mental health.

As a stay-at-home mom, having my siblings and parents around throughout the week makes day-to-day life with a toddler so much more enjoyable.

Our setup gives me other adults to interact with, another set of hands when I need them, and simply remedies any of the aspects of motherhood that can otherwise feel lonely.

It's also a game changer for me to have my own mom as a resource. Rather than turning to Google, I can walk across the driveway and pick my mom's brain for parenting advice as a first-time mom.

My marriage has actually gotten even stronger since living here.

One of the many perks that I did not anticipate was how much the support of a village would benefit my relationship with my husband.

With other people around to lend a hand with our daughter, direct access to girl time with my mom and sister, and my husband having the ability to go watch a football game with my dad or play basketball with my brothers, we have easier access to hobbies and self-care outlets as parents. This leaves more quality time for us as a couple.

Our setup felt 'normal' pretty quickly.

It's taken me by surprise how after only living in our home for six months, this setup already feels so natural and "normal." I can't imagine going back to living even 15 minutes down the road from our family.

Sometimes it takes people asking questions or sharing their opinion on our living arrangements to remind me that our setup is a whole lot less common than I think.

When I think back to my expectations surrounding a 'family compound' prior to moving into our home, I had only really envisioned the more overarching concepts such as family dinners, lots of quality time and no longer having to drive to visit each other.

However, I didn't realize how many of the small details would make such a positive impact on our day-to-day lives.

• I've always valued independence and found comfort in keeping my finances separate from my husband's.
• When we had a baby, though, our setup started to feel less and less fair.
• We agreed to combine most of our money, and it's helped us feel like a team.

Maybe it's because I'm an only child raised by a single mother, but I've always valued independence.

I walked down the aisle alone. I'll happily go out to dinner or a movie by myself. When faced with a problem, my instinct is to wrestle with it myself rather than ask for help. (I'm working on that one.)

And when my husband and I got married, I was adamant about keeping our finances separate.

For years, this arrangement worked beautifully. But after we had a baby in the summer of last year, I began to wonder whether the financial independence I'd clung to was actually working against us.

Keeping our finances separate gave me a sense of freedom

The concept of combining finances has always made me uncomfortable, mostly because I didn't like the idea of having to justify any impulse purchases I've made after working particularly hard. My husband was always on the same page.

The first time we really talked about changing our system was when we bought a house together in 2020, several years before we got married. We knew that this, of course, would come with a lot of shared expenses.

We decided to open a joint account, and to both deposit the same amount each month to cover those expenses — like the mortgage, utilities, and groceries. Then, we kept the remainder of our earnings in separate checking accounts.

When my husband wanted to splurge on some new audio equipment, he didn't feel the need to consult me. Similarly, I didn't have to "ask permission" every time I wanted to get my hair done or go out for a nice dinner with a friend.

To me, this system reflected just how much we trusted each other to make financially responsible decisions with our own money. Besides, it felt fair: We were both contributing equally to maintaining our home, while preserving some autonomy.

After having a baby, our separate finances started creating tension

In 2025, we had a baby. Suddenly, finances felt a lot less cut-and-dried.

Because my husband and I are both freelancers, every hour one of us spends working is often an hour the other spends caring for our son. So, when my husband takes a last-minute gig, I lose that time to work, but I don't directly benefit from what he earns — and vice versa.

We started to find ourselves competing for the working hours we needed to cover day care and the mortgage, even though we were supposed to be operating as a team. The "every man for himself" dynamic felt completely antithetical to what marriage was supposed to be.

Meanwhile, the costs of parenthood — diapers, formula, day care, clothing — were accumulating, forcing us to contribute more and more to our joint account. And now, one of us often had to sacrifice earning opportunities so the other could work.

During one of our recent weekly marriage check-ins, I expressed some resentment about how I'd been responsible for picking up our son from day care most days the previous week, while my husband was able to work much longer into the night.

"I'm contributing the same amount, but I'm not being given enough time to earn that amount," I said.

Combining more of our money helped us feel like a team again

Since our time and responsibilities are so intertwined these days, and we have a longer list of shared expenses than ever, we realized that the best way to make our situation feel more equitable was to merge more of our money.

In the past, we each deposited the same fixed dollar amount into our joint account every month. Now, we contribute nearly all our earnings to that account and set aside the same amount for both of us to spend as we wish.

That change helped curb some of the competition and resentment. Now, when one of us takes on an extra gig, client, or project, it feels like a win for both of us — regardless of who's earning the paycheck.

That's not to say we've found the perfect arrangement. We're still figuring out how much personal spending money makes sense to set aside and which major expenses warrant a conversation.

The important thing, though, is that we've realized independence and partnership aren't mutually exclusive. We share the same financial goals, so it only makes sense to share our earnings. We're not giving up our financial independence, but redefining what it means to us.

• As a Canadian, I dreamed of living in Europe — and then, I finally got the chance to move there.
• There were parts of my new life I loved, but I missed Canada more than I expected.
• After five years, I moved back to Canada with a new appreciation for my home.

I first fell in love with the idea of Europe when I was 14.

My mom and I went on a trip to Russia to visit relatives, and Moscow won me over with its grand boulevards and trendy cafés. We also stopped in London, where we explored the city's central neighborhoods and shopped in stores I'd only read about in fashion magazines back home.

I was amazed by everything. I was convinced Europe was better — more aesthetically pleasing, more interesting — than my hometown of Vancouver, and vowed to go back as often as I could.

By my early 20s, I was traveling to Europe almost every summer. My sister had moved to France, so I had a great excuse to visit: I'd stay with her in Paris and later Toulouse, and I'd also check out other destinations like Spain and Italy when I could.

I became more enamored with the continent with each trip. Like so many North Americans, I considered it somewhat of a utopia where the overall lifestyle is healthier, the food is more delicious, and everything is more beautiful.

Love gave me the opportunity to live in Europe

In 2018, at age 26, I met and fell in love with a Brit who was living in Vancouver. When his Canadian working-holiday visa expired, we started a long-distance relationship — and I applied for a British visa so we could be together.

After years of romanticizing the continent on vacations, my dream was finally coming true. I moved to Birmingham and got a UK-based job.

My first year there was great. I loved being surrounded by historic architecture, feeling comfortable dressing up in fancier clothes, and knowing that countries like Spain, Italy, and Greece were just a quick flight away.

But eventually, the novelty started wearing off. Things I initially found so charming became mundane after a few years. The old buildings blurred into the background of my daily commute, and I never quite adjusted to certain cultural differences, like the Brits' less direct communication style.

I also started to miss the things I took for granted back home, like easy access to the ocean and mountains. Back in Vancouver, I used to spend weekends at the beach or hiking, and though these activities were possible in the UK, they were more difficult from my inland location.

Plus, although some things were more affordable — like groceries — others, like transportation fees, weren't. I was also getting paid a lower salary for the same job I was doing back home.

Even the travel benefits weren't as cut-and-dried as I'd expected. Yes, I was close to the rest of Europe, but farther from plenty of other destinations. In Vancouver, I could easily hop on a flight to Mexico to escape the winter blues.

My husband and I traveled to the Canary Islands a few times from the UK, and they were stunning — but in my opinion, they just couldn't compare to the soft white sand and warm azure waters of the Riviera Maya.

I realized I missed my life in Canada

In 2021, I visited Canada for the first time since moving, and started to see everything from a different perspective. I had a newfound appreciation for the rugged natural beauty around me and the laidback coastal lifestyle.

Once I got back to the UK, I started to realize just how much my Pacific Northwest upbringing had influenced my lifestyle preferences. I realized I'd rather be surrounded by the ocean, mountains, and forests than historic buildings.

As someone with a multicultural background, I also felt homesick for my Canadian hometown's diversity. I really felt like my community back home was shaped by immigrants, and cultural traditions there felt less uniform.

After our second trip back to Canada in 2022, my husband started to sense just how homesick I was. We agreed to move back the following year — though we chose to go to nearby Victoria instead of Vancouver, as we preferred the more relaxed vibe of a smaller city.

I'm glad we left, but I have no regrets

We've now been back in Canada for just over three years, and it feels like the perfect place for us right now.

Despite everything, I don't regret my move to the UK. I fulfilled my adolescent dream, and I know that if I hadn't taken the opportunity, I'd have always wondered what my life could have been like there.

Those five years also gave me a better appreciation for where I am now. Sure, there are things I miss about living in the UK, like the multitude of dog-friendly pubs and British chocolate. But as someone who prefers a more nature-oriented life, I know Southwest British Columbia is the right home for me.

Still, I'll never say no to another trip back across the pond.

• I'm 30 years old, but I look young and am often mistaken for being half my age.
• This has made it difficult for me to feel like I'm being taken seriously in professional settings.
• Oftentimes, when I apply for jobs or go to the office, I try to make myself look older.

"Have you just started studying?" a tall, smiling man in a suit asked me.

Although I was in a university building, I wasn't there as a student. I was struggling to find a conference room for a work-related meeting — one that, I soon realized, he was also attending. Of course he was.

"Oh, you just look so much younger," he said after he realized we were colleagues. Maybe it was a compliment, but it didn't feel like one to me.

I have countless examples of people perceiving me as half my age, from movie-theater cashiers trying to sell me children's tickets to police officers on the street asking me where my parents are.

There have been several times when I arrived at a youth support group for my job, but the receptionist assumed I was one of the teen clients. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

I'm 30, but between my youthful features and my 5-foot-1 height, I am often told I look like a teenager. Many people consider looking young a dream, and it's even a goal for skincare aficionados.

In reality, though, I believe it's made parts of my life — especially my professional life — considerably more difficult.

I've found it's tough to be taken seriously when you look half your age

I have several years of experience providing peer support for individuals with autism and ADHD; helping develop mental-health programs; and leading projects addressing issues faced by refugees, the LGBTQ+ community, and people with disabilities in several countries.

And yet, because of how I look, I still struggle with confidence and worry about being taken seriously at work.

Often, before I've even had the chance to properly introduce myself when interviewing for a job or meeting new people, I'm concerned my appearance has already shaped how I'm perceived.

Looking like a teen feels like an even bigger obstacle when I'm applying for higher-level and leadership roles, especially because most of the work I do involves peer support or management.

A manager is expected to be wise and knowledgeable — qualities not usually associated with youth. And in my field, a peer supporter is someone who has enough lived experience and training to help others navigate situations they have experienced firsthand.

But would a 70-year-old really take advice from someone who looks like their grandson? I don't know, but I do know that appearance and age aren't the same thing as experience.

I try to look older to be taken more seriously, but I wish I didn't have to

Over time, I've developed little tricks to try to avoid unwanted questions (or surprised reactions) about my age at interviews and at work.

Sometimes I wear platform shoes to appear taller or deliberately choose clothes that make me seem more mature — for example, wearing a plainer dark shirt rather than a colorful one, even though both would be equally appropriate for a meeting.

I also find myself consciously steering conversations with work colleagues toward things people associate with adulthood. I'm more likely to mention politics or current affairs than "The Hunger Games" or "Doctor Who," even on days when I would much prefer to chat about sci-fi than the news.

Sometimes I offer to show my ID as soon as I arrive for a job interview, hoping that "proving" my age will immediately change how potential employers perceive me.

In a perfect world, though, people would be judged in the workplace for their actual skills rather than their appearance and age, real or perceived. Age doesn't automatically come with wisdom, and youthfulness isn't equal to inexperience.

I've known teenage peer-support volunteers who were fantastic at their work, and I've also encountered professionals decades older than me who were far from the best in their field.

For now, though, I'm willing to play the game when I need to. I'll wear platform shoes, put away the "childish" T-shirts, and show my ID — whatever it takes to be taken seriously as a professional adult.

• My partner lives in a spacious house in rural Colorado, and I live in a condo in Boulder.
• We haven't found a place that fits both of our needs yet, so we're content living 45 minutes apart.
• There are challenges, but we enjoy spending lots of time at each other's homes.

Every weekend, my partner makes the best breakfast: over-medium eggs, handmade tortillas, and fresh hash browns.

We often eat outside thanks to Colorado's bright, sunny days, then we'll walk around the lake, watch some football, and spend the evening roasting marshmallows over the fire pit.

Then, when Sunday night arrives, I get in my car and drive the 45 minutes back to my dream condo to get ready for the week ahead.

My partner and I met at work 13 years ago, and we intend to spend the rest of our lives together, but we still live apart. We know each other's rhythms, quirks, and needs, and have no secrets, just separate addresses.

I often joke that we're in a "middle-distance" relationship. At least we're in the same state, but it's also not always easy or convenient to drop by for dinner.

Living apart lets us each keep a home we love

Both of us are divorced, and we both love the houses we have.

My partner lives in rural northeastern Colorado and bought his home after his divorce. It's bigger than mine, with a huge yard and a custom-designed patio built for entertaining.

His neighborhood isn't exactly walkable, but he's originally from a small town in Texas, so he doesn't mind driving longer distances to get to places he wants to go.

Meanwhile, after my divorce, I moved back into the Boulder condo I had been renting out while married. My unit is smaller than my partner's, but I love its mountain views and proximity to all my favorite places, like my go-to local bakery.

It needed a lot of work when I moved back in, but I invested in new paint and flooring to really make it mine again.

I want to stay close to Boulder, and he wants a big house. The tight, expensive housing market has made it tough to find a new place we both love.

Though we've toured many houses together over the last six months, we haven't been impressed by any of them enough to leave the places we've already made our own.

Our setup isn't as tough as people think

One thing that has made this arrangement easier is that we're used to living out of our suitcases. I'm a professional travel writer, and he works for a company based on the East Coast. We also love to explore new places together whenever we can.

When we are both home in Colorado, we've found a routine that has worked pretty well for us. My partner often spends some weeknights here, where we're close to restaurants, friends, walkable downtown Boulder, and other things to do after work.

Then, I'll go up to his house for quiet, relaxed weekends, and to watch my favorite team on the 100-inch screen (go Raiders!). We also tend to entertain at his bigger house.

Both of us get bored easily, so having a change of scenery and routine keeps life feeling fresh. My 14-year-old pug has adapted, too, and travels with me between places.

To make things easier, I've bought duplicates of staples like deodorant and an electric toothbrush, so I'm not schlepping them (or forgetting them!) every weekend.

That said, there are challenging things about our setup. Packing up every few days can be a hassle, and it can be stressful to land at the airport and decide which house to go to, especially when I miss both my partner and the feeling of being "home."

We always make an effort to overcommunicate our plans and extend understanding whenever one of us just needs to get home to do a load of laundry.

We'll find our dream home eventually

Every day, I'm scrolling listings that meet both our picky criteria and calling up agents for showings, but so far, we haven't loved anything as much as our current homes.

It sounds frustrating, but we both think this is a pretty good problem to have: It gives us more leverage in the homebuying process and means we don't have to settle for something that is only half-right or makes just one of us happy.

We're confident that we'll find a home that fits us both, but in the meantime, navigating the middle-distance has only made our relationship stronger.

• During my senior year of college, my 24-year-old brother became my roommate.
• Living together seemed like a crazy idea, but he ended up becoming a safe space for me in the house.
• The experience brought us closer and made me less afraid of postgrad life.

Before heading out to the bar on our final day of junior year at the University of Maryland, I sat in my empty college apartment with my friends, laughing over a dumb sitcom while scrolling on our phones.

Half of our stuff was in boxes as we were preparing to move into our very own house for the next school year. We fantasized about the parties we would throw and the decorating we would do.

But then, two months later, everything was turned upside down when one friend backed out and moved to Wisconsin to pursue a new career path. We were scrambling to find a replacement, but luckily, we weren't the only ones looking for a roommate.

When I was talking to my mom about the situation, my 24-year-old brother, who was three years out of college, was on the other end of the phone. Turns out, he was trying to find a place to live after his arrangements in Baltimore — about 40 minutes from my school — changed at the last minute.

My mom listened to both her children in a state of panic and was able to solve both problems with the most cruel suggestion a college girl could ever hear. "Why don't you move in together?"

Sure, that's just how every girl wants to spend her senior year of college. It was my parents' dream and my own nightmare.

My brother and I are close, but this still seemed like a crazy idea. However, we'd already signed a lease and didn't want to cover the rent for our friend who moved away. So, my brother and I talked on the phone, toying with the idea, before meeting up for lunch and deciding to officially become roommates for the first time since high school.

Despite any hesitations, once the summer ended, we all moved into the house together.

Suddenly, my senior year of college looked less like a coming-of-age movie and more like an episode of "New Girl." Three college girls and my older brother, all under one roof.

My brother became an unexpected safe space for me

Whenever my brother and I told people we were living together, we got some crazy looks. There were a lot of questions for him about how he could live with a bunch of college girls and function as a full-time adult. There were also a lot of questions for me, a full-blown party girl, about whether I would feel uncomfortable living with my overprotective brother.

We were living different lives and were on completely different pages — or so we thought. Surprisingly, after moving in, there were moments when I was thankful my brother was there.

When I had a falling-out with my roommates around the second half of the school year, and tensions grew, my brother was there to have my back. The living room no longer felt like a safe space, so I would go to his room instead.

Then, six months into our living arrangement, I got news that one roommate had received a full-time job offer, while the other was accepted into graduate school. Meanwhile, I was a straight-A student with four different internships, who was going to be completely jobless.

It felt unfair and difficult to speak with my friends about my unemployment and fear of adulthood since they couldn't relate. So, in these moments, I ended up going to my brother, since he had gone through the same situation a few years back when he was finishing school.

As I learned more about his life, his perspective helped me navigate my own experiences — and brought us closer, too.

Fast-forward a couple of months, and my brother and I spent the majority of our time at home laughing on the couch, watching reality television, and talking about our weekday struggles. While I was struggling to find a job, my brother was struggling with his work as an elementary school teacher.

When I was complaining about guys, he was telling me about his dating failures. Sure, living together while navigating our respective romantic lives was occasionally awkward, but we did our best to keep our flings from crossing paths.

Before long, we were both spending our Sundays hungover on the couch, debriefing our weekends. Although my brother may not have found the same common ground with the other girls I was living with — who were practically strangers to him — we were closer than we've ever been.

Living with my brother made me less afraid of life after college

Spending this much time with my brother alleviated any fears I had of adulthood.

His day-to-day life wasn't too different from mine, but while I was attending classes as a student, he was leading them as a teacher. Although I had no plans to become an educator, he gave me advice on navigating the workforce and figuring out how to be a grown-up.

More than anything, he showed me that postgrad life could still be fun. I could go to the gym and blast my music, grab drinks with friends, and binge-watch my favorite shows. The difference was that life felt a little more elevated, with new opportunities to step outside my college bubble.

At the end of the day, he taught me that the problems we face after college are not so different from the ones we had in college. Whether someone is newly postgrad, graduated 10 years ago, or is still completing their studies, we are all figuring things out in our own way.

We now live in different cities with our significant others, but spending a year together created a bond that makes my brother feel more like my best friend than a sibling.

We still talk every day, and now we get to laugh with each other's partners about the realities of living with us. After all, we've both been there.

• I swapped homes with a stranger and traded my San Francisco condo for a house in Seattle.
• For a month, I lived in Seattle to figure out if I would want to move there permanently.
• Although Seattle isn't the right city for me, the experience taught me what I want in my next home.

After 18 years of living in San Francisco, I was seriously starting to consider moving.

I loved the life I had built there, but taking the next step — like buying my own house with a yard — felt out of reach for me. However, I was afraid I would regret leaving the place I had called home for so many years.

When thinking of places I'd like to live, Seattle immediately came to mind. I figured the city would offer similar energy and career opportunities as San Francisco, and I loved its proximity to striking natural beauty.

Plus, I'd visited the West Coast city many times and had a good friend who lived there, so it seemed like a logical move. But instead of taking the leap immediately, I decided to test out living in the city for a month to make sure it was the right fit for me.

Through HomeExchange, a platform that allows users to swap homes with people from around the world, I traded my Noe Valley condo for a house with a yard in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle for the month of July.

I got to experience Seattle as a local instead of a tourist

Although I'd visited Seattle many times over the years, this was my first chance to test everyday life there with my dog, Pepper — not just experience the city as a tourist.

I worked remotely, went grocery shopping, and checked out the Ballard Farmers Market on Sundays. Pepper and I explored different parks on morning walks and went to local breweries in the evenings.

I really prioritized spending time in Ballard, since that was the neighborhood I was most interested in possibly calling home. I loved that the residential parts were filled with single-family homes on tree-lined streets, but the location was also walkable to a historic core filled with shops, restaurants, and bars.

It felt like it could be the perfect combination of having a home with a yard in a residential neighborhood, while still having the city life and walkability I loved in San Francisco.

However, staying for a month also allowed me to experience some of the pain points I'd deal with as a local.

For example, although I found Ballard incredibly walkable, once I left the neighborhood, Seattle as a whole felt much more spread out and suburban than San Francisco. I found myself driving and sitting in traffic more than I'm used to.

One night, I was invited to go to my friend's house for dinner. What I thought would be a quick, 30-minute drive turned into a 55-minute headache in rush-hour traffic. In this moment, I realized moving around the city would require more planning than I initially expected.

Having Pepper with me also gave me insights into dog regulations that I never would have noticed on vacation. Although Seattle is a very dog-friendly city, I found there are more restrictions around water access and off-leash areas than I ever would have known about as a tourist.

I'm used to letting Pepper run off-leash in the sand at Fort Funston in San Francisco, but I found that most sandy beaches in Seattle don't allow dogs. Luckily, she was still able to sunbathe and people-watch from the yard of the house we were staying in.

The house swap helped me figure out what I want from a permanent home

Having someone stay in my home gave me insight into what she loved about it, and it made me appreciate what I already had.

The woman I traded homes with mentioned that many of my neighbors greeted her and that people were friendly on her daily dog walks in Noe Valley. I wasn't surprised that she felt this way. After all, the community in my neighborhood is one of my favorite things about San Francisco.

Spending time away gave me clarity on what I value in the home I already have, and some perspective on what I want in my next home.

A month in Seattle made it clear that the city is not my place. It also confirmed that I wanted some things that are out of reach for me in San Francisco because of the cost of housing, like a house with a yard.

Ideally, I'd like to find a place that combines the best parts of both cities: affordability, a walkable neighborhood with a sense of community, and natural beauty. I also realized that avoiding heavy traffic and crowds may mean looking beyond major cities.

Thankfully, trading homes was a relatively low-cost, low-risk way to test a major life decision like moving. Before making an expensive move, I was able to refine my list of what I want in my next home, and what I don't.

For now, I'm still searching for my new city, but my vision of what the next chapter will look like is much clearer.

• I spent my 20s climbing the career ladder and building the life of my dreams in Scotland.
• Then, after losing my dad, I decided to make a big change: I moved abroad and went back to school.
• I've been struggling financially, but I know that I made the right choice.

For most of my 20s, I wanted to climb the career ladder — and hoped that as soon as I reached the top, everything would become clear and I would live happily ever after.

My life felt like it was headed in the right direction. I was on a steady, exciting career trajectory in the climate policy field. I even bought my first flat in an up-and-coming area of Edinburgh.

Then, my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer in late 2022. The next few years were spent grappling with his illness and, eventually, his death.

I quickly felt the whole ecosystem of my life fall apart. I was struggling at work, and I didn't know how to ask for help. I tried my best to carry on as normal and try to convince myself that the work I was doing — and, by extension, myself — was important.

As I edged toward my 30th birthday in early 2025, against a backdrop of grief and burnout, the need for change felt urgent and existential.

I made a drastic change

It was shortly after this, in the spring, that I decided a move abroad was exactly what I needed.

I quit my job and spent the next few months sending applications to schools across Europe, hoping to pursue a master's degree in my field and embark on a fresh start.

When an offer came from a university in Budapest, I knew that was where I would be going. I had visited for the first time about a decade prior, and fallen in love. I remember thinking, "I could see myself living here one day," not thinking that that "one day" would ever actually come.

In September, I packed up my life, started renting out my Edinburgh flat, and made the move.

The first few months brought a mix of excitement, fear, and disbelief. There was a lot of bureaucracy to navigate — forms to fill out, applications to be processed — and I couldn't relax until everything was completed.

I was also pretty lonely in the beginning. When I first moved, I didn't know a single person in Budapest and had to build a completely new social circle from scratch.

I also sometimes felt like an imposter: I was a lot older than the fresh-faced students in their early 20s who made up the bulk of my classmates. It felt like I was in a completely different life stage, and I was worried I didn't fit in.

Financially, the move has been difficult

Once I got settled, many of my anxieties subsided. I loved my new flat and enjoyed going back to school and learning new things.

Unfortunately, the hardest part — finding work — is ongoing. I figured I'd be able to get a part-time office job while I completed my degree, but it's been difficult. I've had to rely on my savings much more than I expected.

I've done what I can to get by. This summer, I worked long hours at a temp job; I've also worked as a teaching assistant at my university and done some voiceover work. However, none of this compares to what I used to earn as a full-time employee with a senior title.

And although the rent in Budapest is generally a lot lower than in Edinburgh, my general cost of living still feels pretty high, particularly when it comes to groceries and daily expenses.

This sense of financial precarity is difficult, and it's definitely not sustainable long-term. I'm lucky to have some income from my renter in Edinburgh and savings from my years working full-time — but there are still moments when I feel very acutely aware of the security I left behind.

I'm making less money now, but I'm happier than ever

Despite the erratic, unsteady, and low-paid nature of all these jobs — or maybe even because of it — my attitude toward work has changed.

For so many years, my job was all I talked and worried about. I felt like what I did defined me as a person.

My jobs now might not be as "stable" or consistent, but I no longer view my career as my identity. Instead, I think of my jobs as a series of experiences — some good, some bad — that have made my world bigger and my life richer (unfortunately, not literally).

My attitude toward spending has changed, too. In the past, I would spend money on clothes, nights out, expensive nail salons, and vacations without really thinking. Now I'm much more frugal and intentional about my money, which I think is a good thing.

Most of all, though, my move forced me out of a comfort zone that was becoming increasingly less comfortable. Starting fresh somewhere new — and making my life here work, even amid the challenges — has shown me that I'm more resilient than I ever thought I could be.

I know now that no matter what gets thrown at me, I will deal with it somehow.

At times, I wonder how much easier my life would be if I had stayed where I was — and if I'm being honest, the answer is probably "a lot." But I am so glad I didn't choose the easy option.

I'm on track to graduate next June, and I am excited about what lies ahead. I'm not sure yet whether I'll explore opportunities elsewhere in Europe or perhaps move back to the UK — but I hope that no matter where I end up, I will return more confident and self-assured than when I left.