• After my husband lost his job, we moved across the country and into my mom's one-bedroom apartment.
• My husband, toddler, and I live in her living room, and it's not always easy sharing a small space.
• However, the arrangement has come with lots of benefits and we've been able to get back on our feet.

7:30 p.m. marks the start of my son's bedtime routine.

First, I pull out our pillows and bedding from under the chaise sofa bed, which I share with my son.

Once our makeshift bed is set, I close the curtains separating it from the rest of the one-bedroom apartment. The tiny living room becomes our private oasis.

I can almost forget we're at my mom's place, sleeping on a convertible sofa she'd originally bought for our annual visits, while my 6-foot-3 husband sleeps on his own air mattress on the ground right next to us.

After my husband lost his job, moving in with my mom seemed like the right decision

Squeezing into my mom's small Boston apartment was never the plan.

Right after I graduated from college, I had moved to California to chase my Hollywood dreams of becoming an actor. During my two decades of living on the West Coast, I met my husband, got married, and became a stay-at-home mom.

However, our lives were turned upside down in 2025 when my husband lost his job. For the first time, we really started thinking about moving to Boston, where I had grown up and my family still lived.

I figured it would give us more flexibility with childcare, and a fresh start in a new city might be what we needed.

When I called my mom to tell her about our plans, she was thrilled. She'd been telling us to move to Boston for years, and said we could stay with her in her one-bedroom apartment until we found a new place.

So, we booked one-way tickets to Logan Airport and moved in with my mom.

It's been challenging for all of us to share a one-bedroom apartment

Arriving in Boston was exciting, but the transition to sharing a one-bedroom apartment was trying — we took over the entire living room. The room became cluttered, with our clothes and suitcases spilling into the hallway.

My mom expressed concern about the mess, so we rented a nearby storage unit for most of our belongings. Still, though, the things we need daily seem to take up a lot of space.

Sharing a one-bedroom apartment required an adjustment not just for us, but for her too.

For example, my son's early bedtime closes the living room off to my mom's nightly TV watching. Honestly, it still feels awkward to kick my mom out of her own living room because I have to put my toddler to sleep.

Plus, my mom is an early riser, often getting up at 6:30 a.m. to clean and run errands.

I can hear the sounds of domestic life filtering through the curtains that separate our "room" from the rest of the home. Cupboards opening, dishes being put away, and the smell of morning coffee lingering in the air like a wake-up call.

When tension rises because of our conflicting schedules and differing routines, I've learned to take a breather and step outside with my son to go for a walk or a drive. It often helps to ease the tension and remember this arrangement is only temporary.

However, it's also nice having my mom's support, and my son has gotten to know his abuela in ways that wouldn't have been possible from across the country. She watches him while I take a shower and go to in-person or Zoom job interviews.

Every night, while I'm getting the living room ready for bedtime, he goes into her room and cuddles up next to her while she watches TV.

Even though things aren't perfect, the arrangement is worth it

At first, being back at my mom's house after so many years of independence honestly made me feel like I somehow failed at life. By 40, I thought I'd have a successful career and a home of my own.

Now, though, it's been seven months since we arrived in Boston, and honestly? We're thriving. My husband found work, my son loves his preschool, and I've been able to focus on my career aspirations.

What I've learned through this whole process is that it's OK to lean on family when necessary, and even though we're still hoping to get our own place sooner rather than later, I know moving back to Boston was the right decision for me and my family.

• Matthew Kelson, now 43, grew up in Michigan and opened his first cinema in his 20s.
• He went on to work for Netflix in Los Angeles before getting transferred to Japan in 2020.
• After leaving his job at Netflix in 2024, he renovated a kindergarten and founded a cinema in Japan.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Matthew Kelson, now 43, who was transferred by Netflix from Los Angeles to Tokyo and is now the founder of CineYama, an independent cinema in Uenohara, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

Japan isn't new to me. In middle school, I spent two weeks living with a host family as part of an exchange program. I returned a couple of times as an adult.

I was working at Netflix in Los Angeles when the company relocated me to Japan in 2020. I was based in Tokyo for two years before moving to Uenohara, a small town about an hour and a half by train from Tokyo. I still spent time in the capital for occasional meetings and traveled extensively across Asia for screenings. Otherwise, I worked remotely from home. After a company restructuring, I left Netflix in 2024.

I wanted to stay in Japan. My daughter was six months old when my wife and I moved, and my son was born three years later. We thought it was a great place for them to grow up. I started thinking about how I could utilize my expertise in cinema and give back to the community.

While scouting for locations, I came across an abandoned kindergarten. In 2024, I started plans to turn the old school into a cinema. And in December, I got my permanent residency in Japan through the highly skilled professional fast-track program. A year later, I formed my company and spent another year renovating before opening a cinema in March.

Building my career in film

I spent most of my childhood in Michigan, in the Detroit area. My father was a professor of international business. He traveled for work often. It got me curious about the world around me.

At 23, I came across the Detroit Film Center and took a filmmaking course. A year later, I became a teacher and worked as a projectionist there. Through that, I started working at an independent art theater in the Detroit suburbs. I started as an usher, then became the theater manager.

Within the two years of working there, I fell in love with the film world. At 25, I renovated an old school's auditorium into a theater in Michigan using my savings. The theater ran for two years, but after disputes with the landlord, it closed.

I was looking for a fresh start, so in 2011, I moved to Los Angeles. At first, I knocked on the doors of all the film distributors I'd worked with until I met some people at an independent film distribution company. I joined as an intern and worked my way up. I landed a job on Netflix's creative team two years later.

The journey to opening a cinema in Japan

Getting the permit to renovate the abandoned kindergarten was a long process. I had to negotiate with officials at city hall and the residents about how I'd use the building, establish the company, deal with fire and health regulations, and construction in a language I don't speak fluently.

I learned that pushing harder is not necessarily what gets things done in Japan. It was about patience, building trust, and showing people that I was serious and that the project wasn't going to disappear in six months.

There were days when I wondered why I had chosen to make my life so difficult. But every milestone, from getting the building, the inspection, installing the projector, and finally opening the doors, made me more determined.

When the cinema first opened, the elderly residents seemed cautious. After a preview, they told me they were impressed to see the place cleaned up and put back into use. It's important for me to have screenings that kids and families can come to and enjoy the space.

Tickets cost 1,500 Japanese yen, or about $9.50. We offer a discount to seniors and residents. I stick with showing content that is harder to find elsewhere, so that it gives viewers a perspective on other ways of life and culture.

It's mostly family-run. I manage the operations, and my wife helps out sometimes. My kids stamp the tickets when they're around.

Living up to the challenge

Opening the theater in the US was different from doing it in Japan. I was in my 20s, had little money, and was just figuring things out in Detroit. The one in Japan came after 15 years of working in film distribution, creative production, and international screenings.

It's been exciting living over here, having the cinema, and meeting people from all over the world. While life in the US would've been much easier, I like the challenges in Japan. That's why I was at Netflix for so long, because it wasn't an easy job either. I learned life in hard mode.

• Leslie Hodgin and her husband had dreamed of moving abroad.
• They finally took the leap in January, deciding not to waste time in their 50s.
• Hodgin said the move was expensive and time-consuming, but she's been happy with their relocation.

This story is based on an interview with Leslie Hodgin, a 55-year-old marketing consultant who moved from the US to the Netherlands with her husband, John Lyman, 52. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Until 2026, I was living in Richmond, Virginia, with my husband and our cat.

My dad was in the Army, so I grew up all over the world, but Richmond is my adopted home. I lived there for about 10 years.

During that time, I got an offer to move to Seoul, South Korea, for my marketing job. My husband, John, and I were dating at the time. We got married one week before moving to Seoul for two years.

After the contract ended, we returned to the States. I love Richmond, but it did feel small after I had been in Korea.

Some events happened in both of our families that made us want to move abroad again sooner rather than later. My dad died. My husband's mom died. We had a couple of dear friends pass away. It was all very quick. And it made me think, "What are we waiting for? We don't have promises for tomorrow. Now is the time."

We don't have kids, so that wasn't holding us back. We had some money in the bank to move, which I know is a privilege. It was like, "Let's just go and live our lives. We shouldn't just keep hoping for someday because there may not be someday."

Moving to the Netherlands

John had gone to graduate school in the Netherlands, so we'd visited before. Through my work in advertising, I also had a fairly large network of people living there.

There's a visa for Americans called the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty (DAFT) that allows freelancers and entrepreneurs to live in the Netherlands. It made the country seem like a great choice for us.

My husband works for himself, so it was easier for him to pick up and go anywhere. I started my own consulting business and left my agency. I knew there was an advertising community in the Netherlands, and I planned to freelance if my consulting business wasn't doing well.

My husband's dad is in his 90s, and my mom just turned 80. Moving far from them was probably the hardest part of the decision. I have a little guilt for that, but they're excited for us. I've promised my mom that I'll be home for any big family and important events.

That's a hard thing to do, but we felt it was right for us not to put our lives on hold.

Downsizing our lives

We moved in January. We did it in six months. We'd sold our house about a year before moving and were living in an apartment.

We decided to sell almost everything we owned to keep costs as low as possible. We shipped a half-crate over, which is quite small, so we had to get rid of a lot of stuff. We made close to $12,000 selling everything and used it to pay for the visas and help with some of the moving costs.

When we moved, we had nine suitcases, including a large piece of art. It was the largest oversize item that would fit on an airplane, and we had a special museum-packing company pack it. And our cat, of course, came on the plane with us.

We live in a two-bedroom apartment. It's an old, old building, but the apartment is newly renovated and has a patio.

We do feel lucky that we found a place because there is a housing shortage, and it's quite hard to find housing, particularly if you're American or from another country and you don't have Dutch income. We had to pay six months' rent upfront to secure our rental.

Life in Europe

It still feels surreal that we live here. My husband and I will frequently look at each other and say, "Oh my God, I can't believe that we're here." I never want to lose that feeling.

Business seems to be going really well. I also already knew some friends, but I've met so many amazing people through social media and made some great friends with our neighbors.

We love the sense of community. I appreciate the social contract that people afford each other in the Netherlands, from the opportunities the government provides to the respect and trust they show each other in general.

Recently, there was Open Monumentendag, or Open Monuments Day, with over a thousand monuments, churches, houses, farms, and historic places across the Netherlands open to the public for free. They do that every year, and it feels so special. It seems like every other weekend there's a festival.

There are always challenges. I'm very slow to pick up the language. Most people speak English, but I feel like I need to be better.

Moving also costs a lot more than you plan for. Even if you've tried to pad all the numbers, it still costs more than anticipated. Because our work was quite slow earlier in the year, we were like, "Gosh, what have we done?"

Our cost of living is fairly similar to what it was in the US. We don't have a car, so we don't have that expense. We would be paying double the rent in New York City for this same apartment.

A fresh start

I feel alive again. I felt a little stagnant in Richmond after living overseas, and moving has opened a lot of doors for my creativity.

On social media, I've documented trying one new thing a week. It's gotten us out to meet people and have some interesting experiences.

There's a risk in moving abroad. You have to get yourself over the hump, and you have to be brave.

Believe in yourself. If there's something you want to try, like moving overseas, going on a solo trip, or taking a cooking class, take a chance on yourself. You're never going to regret trying it if it doesn't work out. If you don't ever put yourself out there, you're going to look back in 20 years and be like, "That would have been great. Why didn't I give that a shot?"

• My husband and I moved from the US to the Netherlands without seeing our new apartment in person.
• We encountered lots of surprises, like the lengthy Dutch application process.
• Although we love our apartment, we've had to get used to a few cultural differences.

After living as digital nomads for nearly two years, my husband and I decided to move from the US to the Netherlands.

We'd visited several times and fell in love with the walkability and bike culture. Plus, I have a connection to the country, since my great-grandparents were Dutch.

With the help of a real-estate agent, we found an apartment remotely from the US, signing a yearlong lease in the city of Utrecht before ever setting foot in the home.

We encountered some surprises while looking for an apartment

Since the process of finding an apartment abroad can often take months, we chose to search remotely from the US. To make things easier, we hired a Dutch real-estate agent with local connections who could view apartments for us in person.

The prep work was much more intense than I was used to. In the US, I've leased apartments in three different states, and the extent of the application typically included filling out a basic form and sometimes completing a background check.

That wasn't going to cut it in the Netherlands.

Our agent gave us a long list of materials to prepare, from 12 months of bank statements and links to our LinkedIn profiles, to a "get to know us" letter, which included our hobbies and photos of us. Then she went looking.

Rentals often get snatched up within a few hours or days, so my husband and I were regularly waking up at 4 a.m. in Colorado to read our agent's emails about the new listings each day.

When we finally found one that checked all our boxes, we asked her to schedule a walkthrough. Luckily, she recorded a video for us to review, so we didn't need to wake up early for this part of the process.

It was during the walkthrough, however, that we learned Dutch apartment listings aren't as detailed as the ones we were used to in the US. When our agent arrived, we discovered the listing had omitted several important pieces of information.

For example, there was a fully fenced-in back garden, complete with a shed, picnic table, and blackberry and rose bushes. The kitchen had a dishwasher. And there was a washing machine hidden away behind a cabinet door — and a dryer (which is not as common in Europe).

Score, right? So we jumped at the opportunity, put in our bid, and jumped for joy when our offer was accepted.

Despite a few setbacks, we fell in love with our apartment

We arrived in the Netherlands a few weeks later, traveling directly from the airport to our rental. When we unlocked the door for the first time, hoping we'd fall in love with our new home, it was … freezing.

Turns out, the heat had stopped working, and the rental company couldn't send someone to fix it until the next day. So, we spent our first night in the Netherlands at a hotel.

Thankfully, the heat was fixed the following day, and then we could start unpacking. This is when we began to notice some of the more nuanced differences of a Dutch house compared to an American one.

The first thing to get used to? The alarmingly steep stairs (a hallmark of skinny, tall Dutch houses) which made moving furniture up to our second-floor office feel like a Herculean feat.

We also learned to accept moths and gnats as houseguests, since Dutch windows don't typically have screens. However, with no air conditioning and a 100-year-old house that was built to retain heat, we definitely want to keep those windows open.

Overall, aside from a few stowaway insects and some hot days, we've been very fortunate with our rental. I particularly love the neighborhood and how we can walk to a grocery store, bakery, or park within five minutes.

The biggest lessons have come from being part of a Dutch neighborhood

Although finding our rental was a whirlwind process, I've found the most interesting parts of living here have come from the cultural differences between American and Dutch neighborhoods.

For example, shortly after arriving, our neighbor invited us to the neighborhood WhatsApp group. If you need to borrow a drill or lose your cat, you send a message to the group.

It's very active, and joining the group helped me feel like I was part of a community before knowing anyone here. Although I've heard of similar groups in the US, I've never been invited to join one.

Ordering packages is also very different. Back in the States, packages would be left by my door. In the Netherlands, however, they aren't left unattended.

Instead, the delivery driver will start ringing the neighbors' doorbells until someone is home. Then, they'll leave a digital note about which house has your package.

One place I didn't expect to feel such a contrast is the sidewalk. On sunny days, my Dutch neighbors bring out their dining room chairs, park them on the bricks outside their front door, and enjoy a cold drink. Sometimes, it'll feel like an impromptu block party — and I couldn't be happier to join in the festivities.

After leasing an apartment across the world, sight unseen, would I do it again? I sure would — especially if I could hire a real-estate agent to check out the home in person.

The quirks of our apartment and neighborhood are all part of the experience of living abroad, and although I may not have expected them, I've now grown attached to these cultural differences.

• 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.