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I felt unprepared when I moved into my first apartment. Living alone has been challenging, but also incredibly rewarding.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

I’ll be honest — when I moved into my first apartment after graduating from college, I didn’t know the difference between Tide and Cascade pods, or how to use a plunger.

But to be fair, I didn’t have the “typical” college experience.

The COVID-19 pandemic prevented me from staying in the dorms in 2020, and even after campus reopened, the cost and comfort of living with my parents kept me home through the end of junior year.

Instead of fostering independence as I’d planned, I continued residing at home, with my family taking care of me, cooking meals, running the washing machine, and restocking my favorite cereal.

By senior year, I felt pressure to move out and grow up

I was raised in Manhattan, and when I decided to go to school just one subway stop away from home, I felt behind in some metaphorical “race” to grow up.

Everyone I knew was out of town, joining sororities and exploring new territory, while I was stuck in the past.

By senior year of college, all my friends were either living in the dorms or in their own places, but I was still at home.

So, as I entered my final year of school, I decided to start looking for a place of my own, without my parents’ assistance. I felt like I would never truly consider myself a real “adult” unless I took on the process by myself.

After a few touring mishaps, the third apartment building I visited seemed like the perfect fit. It wasn’t furnished yet, but it already felt like home. It even had wooden floors that reminded me of the room I grew up in. I signed my lease one week later.


An empty apartment with white walls and wooden floors.

The apartment felt like home before I even furnished it.

Carrie Berk



However, I quickly became overwhelmed by the moving process. As I stared at boxes piled to the ceiling, I didn’t know where to start.

I started tackling the space, excited to see my NYC-style Barbie Dream House vision come to life. But the more I unpacked, the more things began to fall apart.

My mattress delivery was delayed, the trendy LED-adorned bed frame I picked out didn’t fit through the doorway, and my WiFi didn’t work. Oh, and instead of pink kitchen tools, I’d accidentally ordered green.

It felt like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get anything right. I started to wonder if moving out was a mistake. Maybe I just wasn’t ready for the responsibility.

The first evening I spent alone in the apartment, I broke down. As I stared at half-open boxes, a TV that wasn’t operating properly, and an empty bedroom, my life felt out of place.

I was in the eye of the hurricane when it came to adulting, and it felt like I would never be able to figure things out on my own. But then I realized — maybe I didn’t have to.

I thought pushing my parents away would make me feel more grown up, but I learned asking for help is healthy and normal. I delegated tasks: my dad helped me fix my router, my mom accompanied me to Home Depot to purchase new utensils, and my friends even pitched in to help me find a new bed frame.

Once they set me up for success, I felt much less overwhelmed. My home began to come together, and instead of feeling scared, I was excited to embark on this new adventure.

Living alone has still presented its challenges, but I’ve learned to embrace the chaos


A bedroom with gray and pink bedding and white furniture.

It took some time to adjust to living alone.

Carrie Berk



I’ll be honest — when my parents, friends, and the movers were all gone, it was pretty disheartening. As I sat in the quiet of my apartment, merely hours after I had officially moved in, I missed the buzz.

I never thought I would say it, but I craved the noise of my dad blasting football on the television or my mom squeezing my dog’s toy. The silence felt deafening. But as days passed, I began to find peace in the quiet.

Now, I savor solo moments that I might not have had the chance to enjoy while living with my family.

I can play my Peloton class at full volume without disturbing anyone and experiment in the kitchen without my mom roasting my cooking skills. To be honest, though, curating a menu beyond scrambled eggs or a toasted bagel is still a work in progress.


A small kitchen with a heart-shaped sign on the wall that reads

Learning to cook is still a work in progress.

Carrie Berk



Now, I’ve found that solo living has become less scary and more of a superpower. As I take care of my home, I’m instilled with a new sense of empowerment that fuels other areas of my life.

If I can budget to pay my rent, then surely, I can learn how to save money for international travel. If I can practice patience in communicating with my landlord about maintenance issues, I can also extend those lessons toward work.

Plus, learning how to clean spills on the rug was a major help when I eventually started a side hustle as a dog sitter.

I’ve learned to embrace the chaos and celebrate the small wins rather than put myself down for my failures.

Now, as I stare out at my fully-furnished space, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, and I’m looking forward to continuing to grow in the comfort of my very own home.




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I quit my job because I couldn’t afford to rent or buy a house. I then moved to Thailand, where the cost of living is cheaper.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

My stable job in the UK allowed me to save, but rental prices in my area would have taken up a huge portion of my income. Each month, I withdrew from my savings as everyday expenses became luxuries. I still had bills to pay, such as car finance, insurance, gas, phone, and a contribution to my parents’ mortgage.

I couldn’t move out of my parents’ house at 28. My goal was to buy my own place, but this was unrealistic. Renting was just as high as a monthly mortgage payment. Saving for a down payment while renting in the UK was impossible on a single average salary.

Even though I was employed, I couldn’t afford the life I wanted. I felt like I was surviving, not living. I was craving financial freedom and independence, but the UK couldn’t offer them.

Two years prior, I had traveled around Thailand and fallen in love with the food, the pace of life, and the value for money. It was a country that had always been on my mind, and eventually I reached a point where I couldn’t live comfortably in the UK anymore. I felt financially stuck and embarrassed that I was still living with my parents.

The only way out was to quit my job, become a freelancer, and relocate to Bangkok — a city filled with opportunity where housing costs half as much as in the UK.

Staying in the UK no longer felt sustainable

For months, I was figuring out what to do. I could spend years trying to catch up, or I could change my environment and live a more affordable lifestyle.

After researching Thailand and reminiscing about my travels there, I realized it was the perfect country to start my own business as a freelance writer.

While I was backpacking there previously, I ate freshly cooked meals for as little as $1. I looked into rental listings in Bangkok, and I was shocked. A modern one-bedroom condominium with a gym and swimming pool costs as little as $400 a month.


Sally seaton sitting at a table in a restaurant with bangkok skyline in the background

The author in Thailand.



In comparison, the average rent in my area of the UK was around $1,200 — more than a third of my monthly salary before bills. In Bangkok, I could pay half that and have more space and amenities.

I had been building a freelance writing business alongside my 9 to 5 job to create freedom to live in Thailand. By the time I decided to leave, I had one client secured. It didn’t guarantee stability, but there was no positive future for me in the UK.

Last June, I handed in my notice and booked a one-way flight to Bangkok. Within a month, I said my goodbyes, packed up my life, and left the UK behind.

My life in Thailand costs less, I get more, and I’m happier

Moving to a new country alone and starting my own business was terrifying, but I knew it would eventually give me the financial independence I couldn’t find in the UK.

Now that I’m my own boss, I still work hard. But the difference is that I’m building something for myself. In the eight months I’ve lived in Bangkok, my client base has grown. I earn slightly less, but my money stretches further.

I rent my own condominium for $500 a month, which includes a swimming pool, a gym, and a coworking space. My electricity bill is $40 a month, and water costs just $2.

Things that once felt like luxury in the UK are now part of my everyday life. I buy fresh fruit from local markets. I pay $6 an hour for a weekly cleaner. I don’t cook; I eat out every day without calculating whether I should skip it to save money.

Getting around is affordable, too. I no longer own a car. A train journey costs around $1, and bike rental rides start at $1.

Since moving to Thailand, I’ve embraced what the Thais call “sabai sabai” — a stress-free way of life. For the first time in years, I feel fulfilled, financially free, and happy.




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Maye Musk describes her son Elon’s living space: ‘The shower only has one towel’

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Elon Musk is one of those guys who only has one towel, according to his mother.

In an X post on Tuesday, Maye Musk described her son’s living space in Boca Chica, southern Texas, near SpaceX’s Starbase launch site.

“There is no food in the fridge,” the billionaire’s mother, 77, said. “The garage where I slept is on the right.”

She added, “The shower only has one towel so I left it for Elon. That was okay with me.”

Maye Musk wrote that she had been primed to live like this since childhood, saying that she had spent many weeks in the Kalahari Desert as a child without showering because there was no water.

“I think my parents prepared me for this luxury,” she said, adding a laughing emoji to the end of her X post.

Musk’s Boca Chica house is a 3-bedroom home worth $45,000, he said in a 2022 podcast interview.

This is not the first time Maye Musk has ratted on her son’s living conditions.

In 2023, she responded to Musk’s tweet, in which he said he slept on a friend’s couch the weekend prior. She said she has “many memories of sleeping on mattresses or blankets on the floor, on couches, or a bed in the garage,” when she visited him in Texas.

In that tweet, she said it was “still better than on the ground in the Kalahari Desert with lions or hyenas nearby.”

Musk has made headlines several times for his austere and modest lifestyle. The Tesla, SpaceX, and X CEO, who is currently worth about $664 billion and is the richest man alive, is known for sleeping on the floor in his offices and going to bed at 3 a.m.

“Back to spending 24/7 at work and sleeping in conference/server/factory rooms,” he said in a May X post after quitting his role in the Department of Government Efficiency to focus on his companies.

Despite Musk’s slim inventory of towels, he’s previously said the habit that had the biggest positive impact on his life was showering.

Representatives for Musk did not respond to a request for comment from Business Insider.




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I’m an American who moved to the UK 5 years ago. Here are 9 things I wish I’d known before living abroad.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

  • After spending most of my life in the US, I moved to the English countryside five years ago.
  • I expected a culture shift, but I didn’t realize that even small talk would look different here.
  • I wish I’d known that many groceries here tend to expire faster and that I’d be walking much more.

Having grown up watching the “Harry Potter” movies and “The Parent Trap” on repeat, part of me always dreamed of moving to England — but the reality of living here has been full of ups and downs.

I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon, and went to college in Orange County, California. I lived abroad for a couple of years before meeting my British husband and settling down in the UK countryside.

Even though the lack of a language barrier made this an easier adjustment than some of my other moves, there have still been more moments of culture shock than I expected.

Groceries seem to expire faster, but they taste fresher.

In my experience, groceries in the UK taste much fresher.

Wirestock Creators/Shutterstock

I’ve found that some perishables can go stale very quickly here. Part of the reason is that a lot of the preservatives we add to produce in the US aren’t allowed in the UK.

Though a chicken breast or parsley would have lasted me at least a week in the US, these same goods expire within three to four days in the UK.

This has made grocery shopping a new kind of challenge, but my meals taste a lot fresher.

Non-gel, roll-on deodorant feels practically nonexistent.


A drugstore aisle in the UK.

Since moving to the UK, I’ve had a difficult time finding my favorite type of deodorant.

1000 Words/Shutterstock

One thing that was nearly impossible to find for my first three years living in the UK? A non-aerosol deodorant.

I came across a couple of sticks (also called roll-ons) in stores here, but the formulas were all gel-based. Now, whenever I’m back in the US, I stock up on my favorite non-gel, roll-on deodorants.

Conversational language is very different.


The writer poses in front of the doorway to a garden in the UK.

I was surprised to learn that casual communication is pretty different in the UK.

Nishaa Sharma

I came to the UK knowing that some words would take on new meanings: Underwear would become “pants,” for instance, and pants would become “trousers.”

Still, I didn’t expect casual small talk to look so different. It’s not uncommon to hear “You all right?” or “You OK?” while patronizing a supermarket or café.

As I quickly learned, people asking these questions usually aren’t worried about me having a bad day. They’re basically asking, “What’s up?”

The humor is much drier.


A close-up of people's hands holding pints of beer and cheersing.

I’ve had a few uncomfortable moments adjusting to British humor.

Tint Media/Shutterstock

I don’t have the strongest sarcasm detector, which made adjusting to the British sense of humor a challenge.

It took me a solid two years to get used to the self-deprecating, dry jokes here. As a sensitive soul used to America’s brand of straightforward humor, I even had to ask those around me to dial down the jabs.

Almost everything closes early — especially on Sundays.


A town center in the UK.

Even fast-food restaurants tend to close at about 10 or 11 p.m. in my UK town.

Pete Stuart/Shutterstock

Outside major cities such as London, Birmingham, and Manchester, it’s unusual to find shops open after 5 p.m. — or 6 p.m., if you’re lucky. Even grocery stores typically close by 8 p.m. on weekdays.

On Sundays, most local shops and eateries shut down even earlier. Pubs typically serve Sunday roast dinner between 12 and 4 p.m., and the average town center is fully quiet by 4 p.m.

This was an adjustment for me. Growing up in Oregon, grocery stores were typically open until 9 p.m., and some near my college in Southern California didn’t even close until 1 a.m.

I find myself walking much more often.


A nature trail in the UK.

There’s no shortage of nature trails throughout the UK.

edhphotography/Shutterstock

In most of the US, having a car is a necessity.

In the UK, meanwhile, many of the town centers I’ve lived around — and explored — are designed to be more walkable, with roads limited to pedestrian, bus, and cyclist access only.

The UK’s walking culture has also affected my social life and leisure activities. Though I lived near some beautiful greenery in the US, I often had to drive to visit a walkable nature trail.

Here in Southwest England, though, I’ve found many nature pathways in both bigger cities and smaller towns. Now, walks are a major part of our weekends and social lives.

The average salary is lower here — but the PTO allowances are higher.


A town street in Somerset, UK.

I was surprised and disappointed by UK salaries.

Helen Hotson/Shutterstock

One of the biggest drawbacks of living and working in the UK is that the pay is generally lower.

For example, according to data from the Office for National Statistics, the median household income in the UK in 2024 was £36,700.

The same year, census data showed that the median household income in the US was just over $83,000 — a salary that would’ve been worth at least £60,000 at the time.

On the plus side, full-time employees receive a minimum of 28 paid days off a year here in the UK, whereas US workers aren’t guaranteed any.

We also have a universal healthcare system in the UK, which helps bridge the pay gap in some ways.

The country feels pretty well-connected by public transportation.


Tower Bridge in London on a cloudy day.

Whenever I travel to London, I have an easy time getting around.

Nishaa Sharma

Even though I live in a remote town in the countryside, accessing the major cities is still easy. Many of the UK’s buses and trains run almost every hour.

Whenever I’m in London, I find the nation’s capital easier to navigate than many US cities. The city’s tube system is intuitive and fast, with tubes departing roughly every five minutes.

On the other hand, many trains I’d used to travel between US cities felt slower and more outdated. When I was in college, even getting around a major city such as Los Angeles felt next to impossible without a car.

Still, trains within the UK cost more than flights to mainland Europe.


A train on an autumn day in the UK.

Train prices in the UK can vary.

David Hughes/Shutterstock

Though trains to London are frequent and fast, they can also be really expensive.

A weekday round-trip ticket can cost up to £150 from where I live, nearly triple the price of a budget flight to Spain, Croatia, or Greece.

On the flip side, though, the accessibility of mainland Europe is one of the best parts of living here — and makes planning those extra PTO days I’ve banked much more fun.

This story was originally published on June 2, 2025, and most recently updated on March 9, 2026.




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We moved to Japan after nearly a decade of careful planning. Living here is still nothing like we expected.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

After a two-week trip in 2015, my husband and I came home completely hooked on Japan.

Reliability was the baseline; trains ran with a clockwork precision that transformed the daily commute into an exercise in discovery. We fell for the profound sense of safety that allowed small children to navigate the streets alone, the atmosphere of the neighborhood shrines, and the level of public order that made everything back home feel chaotic by comparison.

What began as a simple holiday evolved into a total life reset that would take over the next eight years of our lives. We decided Japan wasn’t just a spot to visit but the place we would raise our family.

We stopped saving for the “someday” dream of homeownership in New Zealand and instead invested in the present, putting our money toward several return trips to Japan to scout our new life.

In preparation for our move abroad, we researched local customs and dedicated ourselves to intensive language study. My husband and I enrolled in university-level courses, while we arranged private tutoring for our daughter to give her the best possible start.

We convinced ourselves that if we planned carefully enough, nothing would catch us off guard. By the time the move finally happened in 2023, my husband and I, along with my daughter, felt ready for anything.

We assumed the hardest part would be the logistics of moving and that first wave of culture shock. After two and a half years of actually living here, I’ve learned we weren’t even close.

You cannot plan for a change in identity


New Zealand passports

My husband and I spent almost a whole decade preparing to move to Japan.

Kerri King



I’ve always liked to feel prepared and in control, which is probably why it took me eight years to feel ready to leave New Zealand.

Before we moved, I researched everything I could think of, from how Japan’s specialized health clinics differed from our general practices in New Zealand to the specific paperwork required for city office registrations.

I watched vlogs of people sharing their grocery hauls in Tokyo, noting the prices of staples like milk and eggs, and read blog posts detailing a day in the life of expats in Japan.

Talk of culture shock and language barriers didn’t scare me, as practical problems often have practical solutions. What I couldn’t have anticipated was how living abroad would make me feel like an imposter.

On the surface, I looked confident and capable, sharing photos of our newest adventures with friends and family on social media. In reality, even small, daily interactions left me panicked and second-guessing myself.

My heart would race whenever someone asked me a question, and I couldn’t find the words to respond.

I felt embarrassed every time I had to rely on Google Translate at the supermarket or to make sense of yet another form. A parcel even sat on my bedroom floor, undelivered, for six months because I was too intimidated to figure out the local post-office process.

For someone who built her identity around independence, constantly needing help from others felt frustrating and humiliating.

Being the parent at school who needed things repeated, the customer holding up the line, or the one relying on her husband to translate slowly chipped away at my confidence.

Living without a support system is harder than I thought


Kerri and Dylan King at Kobe Steelers Rugby Game

As much as we love Japan, it’s tough to be far from home.

Kerri King



That same fierce independence I’d always been proud of also meant I didn’t prioritize building a support network when we arrived in Japan.

I assumed friendships would happen the way they always had — through school events, casual chats, and repeated proximity. I figured I’d naturally end up grabbing coffee with a few people, even if the coffee wasn’t quite as good as New Zealand’s.

It turns out friendships are harder to build when language and cultural barriers sit between every conversation.

So instead, I buried myself in work and told myself I was too busy to socialize. Our family travelled most weekends, which made it easy to stay occupied and harder to admit I felt lonely.

The few friends I have made, I love dearly. However, deep friendships take time, and life feels heavier when you don’t have someone nearby to lean on.

That absence felt sharpest when my grandmother passed away in 2024, and I couldn’t show up for my family. I wasn’t able to cook meals for my mum, sit with my grandfather, or say goodbye properly.

Grieving from afar isn’t something you can really plan for; you realize too late that a final goodbye is gated behind a 14-hour flight and a four-figure plane ticket.

Despite the small four-hour time difference, the geography of our new life meant I was out of reach when it mattered most.

Japan has made our lives easier in many practical ways. We save money, travel more, and have access to high-quality medical care whenever we need it.

However, all the convenience and travel in the world can’t replace community.

Even our best expectations didn’t survive real life


Man and woman smiling in front of temple in Japan

Japan gave us the frictionless life we dreamed of, but I’ve learned that convenience is a poor substitute for a sense of community.

Kerri King



Before we moved, we thought we’d covered the language gap: My husband completed a four-year Japanese degree, our daughter grew up exposed to the language, and I studied as much as I could.

We assumed that would be enough to get by, and from a practical point of view, it is. I can grocery shop, book appointments, and navigate daily life without much trouble.

However, existing within a community is not the same as belonging in one. At parent meetings and school events, conversations move too quickly for me to follow, and I rarely feel able to contribute anything meaningful.

Over time, I realized language wasn’t the only barrier to belonging.

Understanding the system’s gears didn’t mean I knew how to be one of them. I understood that Japan prioritizes the group over the individual, but adapting to this is a lot harder in practice.

Every time I asked school staff for an exception for my daughter — a quiet corner during assembly or permission for her to wear her noise-cancelling headphones during music classes — the smiles across the table turned thin and rigid. There was no argument, just a heavy, polite wall of silence that told me I’d stepped out of bounds.

It left me in an impossible spot: I was fighting to get her the support she needed, but by speaking up, I was highlighting the very differences I was trying to help her navigate.

Japan has still given us the life we planned for, just not in the ways we expected. Now, we have to decide if the life we worked eight years to build is worth the community we’re living without.

Read more stories about moving abroad




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We spent 2 summers testing out living in different European countries. A year later, we’re happily settled in our top pick.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

No one really tells you how to look for a home — and I don’t mean a structure with four walls and a front door.

I mean the place you’re proud to be part of, to describe to people who’ve never been, to bond over with strangers you’ve just met.

If I’m honest, my husband Cody and I started our search for a new home from vastly different perspectives: I’m a Guyanese-American Black woman raised by Caribbean parents in an eclectic corner of North Jersey.

I grew up proudly wearing my badge of independence as I took the bus and train between my hometown and New York City, the sound of different languages lulling me to sleep on the way home from Manhattan.

Cody, the firstborn in a blended, mostly evangelical family, jumped at the chance to leave rural Indiana as soon as he was able. He craved walkability, third spaces, and access to culturally diverse communities.

We met nearly 12 years ago in North Carolina and, for a while, found some common ground in Durham — its tight-knit community felt familiar to me, and the (semi) walkable neighborhoods suited him.

When remote companies became our sole source of work, we found ourselves with the freedom and opportunity to do what we hadn’t before: travel overseas.

Soon, we began to wonder if home might exist outside the contiguous US.

Throughout our summer of travel, we began looking for a place to settle


Woman in London smiling

We spent time exploring London.

Ashley Stahm



We’d never been to Europe, so we took two months in the summer of 2023 to travel to Paris, Nice, and Cassis, France; Brussels, Belgium; Amsterdam, Netherlands; and London, England.

Those cities, of course, are as different as the four corners of the US, and perhaps even more so due to linguistic, cultural, and climate differences.

We packed a single checked bag and hauled it from city to city on trains and across cobblestones, shedding our crewnecks and rain jackets as we walked along Amsterdam’s canals for shorts and bathing suits in the south of France.

We loved the bicycle infrastructure in Amsterdam, the café culture in Paris, and the cultural diversity and ample green space in London.

However, our research taught us that the Netherlands, France, and the UK would not be particularly easy countries for us to immigrate to.

Not to mention, we stayed in each city during the summer, experiencing the most vibrant version of each. What would living in London feel like in winter, with the sun lost behind endless overcast skies? What would Paris be like when it rained days on end?


Man with bicycle near bridge, flowers

We enjoyed visiting Amsterdam during the summer.

Ashley Stahm



Around six weeks into our foray across those four countries that summer, we took a beat. What, exactly, were we looking for?

We’d seen Big Ben. We’d seen the Eiffel Tower. We’d biked across canals in Amsterdam, and had Belgian waffles in the place they originated because, well, of course we did.

The magic of our first European tour was captivating, sure, but we were looking for a home.

We realigned on the basics: We specifically wanted a place where we could build a childfree community. We craved places for adults to meet and support one another, with the intent of growing old together.

We never, ever wanted to own a car again. We wanted healthcare to feel accessible. We needed a feasible way to immigrate and integrate, language, bureaucracy, and all.

We wanted to be in this new home for the long haul.

As our travels continued, we found a not-so-great fit and one city that felt right


Man and woman toasting drinks at table, smiling

We spent our travels exploring new places and celebrating milestones.

Ashley Stahm



It was with that renewed direction that we went home and planned for our next trip across the Atlantic: this time to Lisbon, Portugal, and Barcelona, Spain.

Although their two countries shared a border, these two cities couldn’t have been more different to us.

In Barcelona, Catalan was spoken so widely that my high-school Spanish wasn’t as useful as I’d hoped. Between the stifling summer heat and what I perceived as a noticeable lack of visible representation of dark-skinned Black (and Afro-Caribbean) women like myself, the city just wasn’t a match for me.

I wasn’t expecting to see reflections of myself everywhere; I was in Europe, after all. However, knowing that Spain is home to millions of immigrants, I also hadn’t expected to feel so conspicuous and be pored over so much.

Although I left Spain feeling more alienated than ever, Portugal soon stole our hearts.

Everywhere I looked, I saw melanin. Throughout our time in Lisbon, I heard a mix of languages and accents — not just European Portuguese, but also Brazilian, Angolan, and Mozambican Portuguese, along with French and English — reflecting the diversity of the people around me.

I sat among greenery, quiosques, miradouros, and old ladies in crisp slacks with beers in hand at 11 a.m., gossiping with their neighbors before heading to the local tasca for almoço and a pastel de nata.

For us, Lisbon felt like it could be home.

After 2 years of searching, we’ve settled on Lisbon


Woman smiling against colorful door

From the north in Porto to the south in the Algarve, I couldn’t pick my jaw up off the floor.

Ashley Stahm



Eventually, we decided to move to Portugal’s capital city, where we had found walkable neighborhoods and a social community of both locals and expats — just as we’d hoped.

It’s warm and sunny year-round, so we didn’t need to worry so much about possible gloominess during other seasons.

Portugal also offers a universal public healthcare system that seems accessible, plus more visa routes than some other countries we’d considered.

Like most truly multicultural countries, though, it is grappling with geopolitical and economic friction that we’re still learning about.

However, there was what was on our list, and then there was what our hearts needed: A country willing to welcome us, teach us, and be patient (as we figured out how to file our immigration paperwork in a language we’re still learning).

We’re immigrants in a land whose respect we are still earning, alongside friends from all over the globe who are starting over, just like us. The effort is well worth it.

From where we stand, a full two years after we began our search, we’re finally home.




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I moved from Southern California to Michigan so I could afford to buy a home. Living here changed me in surprising ways.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

Born and raised in Orange County, I never considered leaving California until I got married.

We wanted to buy a house and start a family, but generally, the ones we could afford were fixer-uppers in neighborhoods we didn’t love.

So, we began looking at other states where we had family. My husband, who moved from Michigan to Los Angeles in middle school, swore he would never go back — and I couldn’t identify Michigan on a map or tell you one fact about it.

We didn’t want to be beholden to a big mortgage, though, and in Michigan, we could purchase an affordable home in a town known for having some of the state’s top public schools. Even better, we’d be welcomed by my husband’s big Italian family, who lived nearby.

When we told our friends we were moving to Michigan, they were shocked. All any Californian knew about Michigan was that it was cold and snowy — why would anyone choose that?

Now, 20 years later, I can confidently say it was a great decision.

When I first moved to Michigan, I experienced some culture shock


Fresh produce at a farmers market in Michigan.

At first, I had to adjust to the feeling of making small talk at markets and shops.

Kristi Valentini



In Orange County, I was the kind of person who would bury my nose in a magazine to avoid chatting with a hairdresser. I rushed through the checkout line and never said, “How are you doing?” to someone I didn’t know.

If small talk was ever forced upon me, I gave away as little about myself as possible. I never understood the point in discussing my life — or even something as simple as the weather — with someone I didn’t know.

In Michigan, though, small talk is unavoidable. I quickly learned that there’s no getting around friendly cashiers and shop owners. I was begrudgingly polite, but it initially took some effort to hide my impatience.

Chatting with neighbors feels much more commonplace here, too, especially because my subdivision doesn’t allow fences.

I was shocked to go from Orange County’s 6-foot cinder-block backyard walls to wide-open lawns and zero privacy, practically forcing me to interact with my new neighbors any time I gardened or enjoyed a glass of wine on the patio.

Over time, I noticed that having friendly neighbors and being a part of a community made me feel safer and more relaxed


A green backyard in Michigan with several trees.

My new neighborhood has less privacy than my old home did, but I’m glad I’ve gotten to know my neighbors.

Kristi Valentini



The kindness of Michiganders started to change me.

In my first year of living in Michigan, our mailbox got hit by a car while my husband and I were at the gym. Our neighbors had cleaned up the mess and gotten the driver’s info for us by the time we got home.

I was so surprised they would do that for us; it struck me as something that probably wouldn’t have happened back in California.

Then, when we had a baby three years into living here, another neighbor further down the street — one I hadn’t even met yet — brought us dinner just because she saw a baby announcement sign in our yard. I was touched that a stranger would go out of their way to do that for us.

When we started taking our kids trick-or-treating for Halloween, I discovered that Midwesterners do that differently, too. They didn’t just spoil the kids. They set up tables of spiked hot chocolate and Jell-O shots for the adults and invited people to warm up by their driveway bonfires. It became a community event.

Eventually, I found myself initiating connections with neighbors, too — and even starting up some small talk. It began with other dog-walkers in my neighborhood as our pups sniffed each other, and at the grocery store as a pleasant way to pass the time while being rung up.

Living in Michigan has changed what I value in a hometown


The writer posing with her two children in costumes on Halloween.

Living in Michigan has made me appreciate community in a new way.

Kristi Valentini



When I visited California to see friends and family a few years after living in Michigan, I could tell how much I’d changed already. It seemed rude to me when people didn’t say hi when passing me on a sidewalk, or when cashiers didn’t make chit-chat.

Because now, I’m the kind of person who makes caramel apples for my neighbors. I chat with fellow shoppers about candle scents in Crate and Barrel and know about my hairdresser’s children and chickens.

I even decorate my front porch — something I’ve noticed that nearly everyone in my neighborhood does. Seasonal wreaths and flowerpots, chairs with pillows and throw blankets, encourage people passing by to come on up and say hi.

I do sometimes miss California’s backyard privacy, and I’ll never stop using SoCal slang like “cool” and “dude.” Still, I’m glad I moved to a place that helped me become a friendlier person and taught me the value of community. I couldn’t imagine raising my children anywhere else.




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I used to think living at home as an adult meant going backward. Losing my dad made me realize I was wrong.

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Growing up, when I imagined my 20s, I pictured living in a huge city apartment on my own, with a partner or a quirky group of roommates. I’d decorate my home with chic art pieces, paint the walls a dusty rose, and host dinner parties for my friends.

I was desperate to begin my life. I thought adulthood started when you moved out; anything else felt like going backward.

Then, my dad died, and my entire reality shifted.

Living with family as an adult is often framed as a “failure to launch,” but navigating grief at home with my mom and younger sister helped me rethink growth.

Living at home in my 20s wasn’t easy at first


The writer posing while skiing with her dad and sister.

Initially, I was eager to move out of my parents’ house and live with my boyfriend.

Maya Kokerov



After I finished college at 22, I moved in with my parents while I figured out what my long-term plan would be.

I hoped this would be a very brief stint. Impatient to be more “independent” and worried I was falling behind my peers, I vowed to rent an apartment with my boyfriend as soon as we could afford one.

Before I had a chance to move out, though, the COVID-19 pandemic pushed us into a lockdown. I settled back into living with my family until further notice. There were practical benefits, such as saving money, but I still felt restless.

In ways, I reverted back to a teenager: whispering on FaceTime, sending messages on Snapchat, even sneaking out of my window to meet up with my partner after everyone had gone to sleep. At 22, I felt emotionally crowded and missed the freedom I’d experienced at college.

More than a loss of privacy, though, I was ashamed that I was still “waiting” to reach what I saw as the first big marker of adulthood.

After my dad died, living together became a lifeline


The writer posing on vacation with her parents and sister.

Losing my dad shifted my priorities.

Maya Kokerov



Four years after I moved back home, my dad suddenly passed away.

We couldn’t properly say goodbye. Instead, we sat in fear for months. His chair was empty, leaving a hole in our home.

As guilty as I felt for not always appreciating the years I’d spent with him, I realized how lucky I was to have gotten to spend his last few years at home with him.

Many fathers who get to grow old may never spend as much time with their children as I did with mine, precisely because I stayed home.

My dad had moved out of his house at a young age and lived in four countries. In one of our last one-on-one conversations, shortly before he was admitted into the hospital, he told me how everyone keeps moving to find their place, but everywhere is virtually the same. The main difference is the people that you’re leaving behind.

Looking back, those extra years at home were convenient, yes, but they were also the happiest I’ve ever been. Now, having my mom and sister by my side gives us space to grieve together and mutually support each other.

Memories and rituals reshaped how I define adulthood

As a very tight-knit family, we built our life around traditions, from holidays and vacations to sports and movie nights.

My dad’s favorite activity was spending time with us. He taught us skills like skiing, languages, and playing tennis.

Healing came from returning to the traditions he loved. Although it was challenging at first, we forced ourselves to engage with his hobbies and rituals, reliving our memories together. We cooked his favorite food, sang songs he loved, and played lots of tennis.

With time, the sadness became more tolerable as we created new rituals while preserving treasured old ones.

This wasn’t the “20-something” life I had envisioned, but this version of home became a symbol of my growth precisely because of how much I loved my past. I realized that living at home at 27 isn’t a lack of maturity or a so-called “failure to launch.”

If anything, grief sharpened my sense of responsibility. Adulthood can be communal, and I feel lucky to have familial support. Grief has made living with my family more meaningful, grounding, and empowering than ever.




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My 99-year-old grandma taught me important lessons about the power of silence, change, and living a good life

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My grandma and I spent most of our lives apart, yet she taught me a deeper way to live.

I grew up in California, while my Grandma Jackie lived in Minnesota. We saw each other only on special occasions — summer visits, my high-school graduation, and a few holidays.

Because of the distance, I got to know her through stories from my parents. Most of what I knew about my grandma came from tales of her days fishing, playing slots, and trying her luck at Pokeno.

These stories, mixed in with my own memories of her wide smile and the taste of her one-of-a-kind sweet-potato pie, cemented my connection to her. Yet when she passed away at 99, I felt guilty for not being closer to her.

During my grieving, I reflected on our relationship that flourished despite the time and miles between us. Through our scattered time together, Grandma Jackie gave me three lessons that shape how I live today.

Love doesn’t need many words


Woman smiling in chair lift wearing Minnesota sweatshirt

Although my grandma didn’t always say much, I knew she loved me.

Kiersten Brown



My grandma wasn’t much of a talker — oftentimes, she could communicate more with a smile than with words.

Whenever I visited her, her brown eyes would light up, and in her raspy voice, she would say, “Well, hi sweetie, how ya doing?”

After a few minutes of pleasantries, the conversation would end. Then we would sit together and watch “Wheel of Fortune.” Occasionally, I’d glance at her, and she’d shoot me a smile.

The same pattern played out during her yearly birthday calls, which lasted three minutes, at best. She would sing “Happy Birthday,” ask how I was doing, and end with, “Well, I’ll holla at you later.”

Interactions felt more like small talk with a coworker than chats with a loved one, and these brief interactions made me question our connection. Short conversations made me feel like we weren’t close because we didn’t have much say.

Yet one day after my grandma’s passing I was talking with my aunt who revealed that love is measured in time spend together.

My aunt mentioned that Grandma Jackie often asked about me and prayed for me nightly. Although we didn’t speak often and saw each other less, she was always thinking of me.

This insight made me realize that silence was more of a way of being than a reflection of our relationship. I realize now that not having much to say was a choice rooted in acceptance and love — she was content with simply having me around.

Because of her, I now focus more on appreciating someone’s presence rather than filling space with chatter.

It’s never too late to change how you live and chase life — no matter the circumstances

My grandma had an unwavering will to live and really took charge of her health at the age of 80 when the doctor’s told her that her she might not have much time left.

She quit smoking, cold turkey. She enrolled in exercise programs, walked daily laps around the house, took supplements, and focused on eating more fruits and vegetables.

More than fearing death, I believe my grandma enjoyed life too much not to fight for it. She had always been someone who loved spending time with her friends, enjoyed traveling within her own state, and considered everyone she met a friend.

When I visited my family a year ago, my grandma attended nearly every event. If she saw someone getting ready to leave, she’d ask, “Where we going?” and expected us to bring her with us. It didn’t matter whether we went to the park or out to eat; she made sure to tag along.

Every day I’m reminded that circumstances don’t have to dictate how I live, and her strength has inspired me to live life to the fullest.

Never stop doing what you enjoy


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My grandma tried to spend time with friends and family as much as she could.

Kiersten Brown



As a music lover, she danced whenever her favorite songs came on. When she became less mobile, she would still rock her hips and sway in her chair.

She loved visiting casinos, never focusing on hitting big wins, but rather finding pleasure in simply playing. During her last few years of life, she attended virtual and in-person family bingo every Friday night. When she craved cake and ice cream, she would have some — in moderation, of course.

As time goes on and I grow older, I’m committed to following my grandma’s example. I will be dancing, hiking, and hanging out with friends for as long as I’m alive.

I’d say my grandma reached 99 for two reasons: good genes and complete dedication to living her life the best way she could. Because of her, I live with more purpose and intention.




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After living in South America for 7 years, there’s just one region I always recommend to first-time visitors

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In 2018, I moved to Ecuador for a “short time,” only to find myself captivated. I stayed for over seven years.

During my time in Ecuador, I was lucky enough to travel across the country, and though I was awed by the lush life in the Amazon rainforest, wowed by the coast, and truly amazed by the famous Galápagos Islands, the part that really captured my heart was the Andean Highlands.

One of the most impressive mountain ranges in the world passes through Ecuador. The Andes Cordillera is full of incredible sights, unique ecosystems, and unforgettable experiences. I believe there’s something here for everyone, from vibrant cities to towering volcanic peaks.

When making their itinerary for a trip to Ecuador, many people carve out most of their time for the jungles and the coast, and though these are great destinations, people are (literally) skipping over a real jewel: the Highlands.

Quito is so much more than a stopover city


Colorful buildings in Quito's historic center.

It’s easy to spend several days exploring Quito.

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Ecuador’s capital city, located in the Highlands, is home to many beautiful parks and sights, museums and galleries, and world-class restaurants and artisanal breweries.

With elaborate churches, colonial architecture, and plenty of restaurants with stellar views, it’s easy to spend a few days exploring.

I love driving to The Panecillo, a small mountain topped with a massive Virgin Mary statue, which offers gorgeous views of the historic center below.

I also recommend visiting at night to enjoy the sprawling city lights while drinking a traditional canelazo, a hot beverage made with naranjilla fruit and cinnamon.

On top of all that, Quito has a rich history. You can learn all about it at its historical center, which just so happens to be one of the first UNESCO World Heritage sites.

There are also other great towns and cities to visit in the region

Quito might be the largest city in the region, but there are tons of other places worth exploring, too.

A few of my favorites are Otavalo, Papallacta, and Baños de Agua Santa. Otavalo is only two hours north of Quito, and is known for its colorful markets and scenic landscapes. There is also plenty of great traditional food to be found here — make sure you try a locro de papa, an amazing cheese-and-potato soup.

Papallacta, just an hour from Quito or from the airport, is a smaller town, but one that’s famous for its wonderful hot springs nestled among lush mountain tops. The public hot springs have many pools for relaxing, as well as cold plunges.

Baños is around four hours south of Quito, on the border where the Andes start to turn into the Amazon. I find this town to have the perfect mix of access to nature and adventure, lovely hotels and restaurants, and nightlife.

If you love the outdoors, this region is a must-visit


The writer posing on a cloudy hike in the Ecuador Highlands.

The hiking here is unlike anywhere else.

Kirstynn Joseph



For those who, like me, enjoy spending time in nature, the scenic route here is even more special. With most hikes even starting at heights of over 9,000 feet above sea level, the mountains — many of them volcanoes — still tower over you.

Rugged rocks and gleaming glaciers dominate the peaks; you’ll spot lots of bright green cushion plants and fields of golden grasses swaying in the winds. Bright-orange chuquiragua plants, found only at these high altitudes, dot the landscape.

One of my favorite hikes is Rucu Pichincha. After riding the Telefériqo cable car to the base camp — which has an incredible view of Quito, a lovely café, and many great spots for photo ops — you can begin to hike up the trail.

Here, you will experience the biodiverse páramo ecosystem and finish at more than 15,000 feet above sea level.

Elsewhere, in different directions but all within a few hours of Quito, the Antisana, Cayambe, and Cotopaxi volcanoes are sky-high with towering peaks covered by glistening glaciers that not even the equatorial sun can melt.


The view of turquoise water from a Quilotoa hike.

The Quilotoa crater lake is a must-visit.

Kirstynn Joseph



Last but not least, Quilotoa volcano, which is in the same province as Cotopaxi and just a bit further away, holds a turquoise crater lake where you can kayak — one of my absolute favorite things I’ve done here.

I may be biased, but I believe this region is one of the most underrated places in the world. If you find yourself in South America, it is absolutely worth it to set some time aside to get to know the Andes and everything they have to offer.

Just be careful on your journey there — you, too, may also find yourself staying just a bit longer than you planned.




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