The things buyers regret not checking before closing are ordinary questions about layout, storage, costs, and system age

The things buyers regret not checking before closing are ordinary questions about layout, storage, costs, and system age

• I spent most of my adult life in cities before moving to a rural cabin for my husband's job.
• It was hard to adjust, and I had to confront many of my phobias before moving back home.
• Although I wouldn't choose to live in a cabin again, I'm grateful for what the experience taught me.

At the end of the summer, I packed my bags and two cats and got on a plane by myself, leaving our spacious home in Portland, Oregon, for a two-bedroom cabin in the remote woods of upstate New York.

I was planning to live there temporarily so I could spend some time with my husband, who had rented the place while he was working on a movie in the area. He had moved to the area a few weeks earlier to start work, and he would stay there until mid-November when the project wrapped.

His options for where to stay were limited: a room at a Best Western, or a quaint cottage with a wood-burning stove and brick flooring on a historic acreage with farm animals.

If I hadn't planned to come, he might have just chosen the hotel room, but he wanted a pet-friendly option with a little more space.

I saw staying in the cabin as a chance to slow down a bit after feeling work-related burnout — but I was nervous, too.

The cabin showed me what I took for granted at home

Immediately, there were some things I genuinely loved about rural living.

One of my favorite parts was the privacy. The cabin sat next to a creek and a grove of trees on a massive acreage at the foot of a mountain. It was part farm, part forest.

I rarely saw other people most days, and got plenty of work done. While at the cabin, I started working on the second draft of my novel while planning for my next full-time role.

However, it was also tough to adjust to rustic life. For most of my adult life, I'd lived in cities, including Los Angeles, New York, Atlanta, and Portland.

Back home in Portland, I'd gotten used to our walkable neighborhood with incredible coffee shops just steps away, plus a slew of local wine bars, restaurants, and other small businesses easily accessible by bike.

Although there were a few charming spots in the general area, the surrounding town beyond the acreage was pretty lackluster, and we were living in a grocery-store desert. I was surprised by how little there really was to do, considering we were only about a two-hour drive from New York City.

Then there was the cottage itself. After living in a house with a dishwasher and an espresso machine, I had to get used to sputtering hot-water taps and Keurig coffee.

Still, none of these inconveniences was the end of the world, especially since I'd only be living here for one month. The biggest challenge, though, was confronting my obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Living near so many insects forced me to face my OCD

Rustic cabin living meant that there were bugs everywhere, pretty much all the time.

Moths, stinkbugs, crane flies the size of my palm, spiders, grasshoppers, and even crickets managed to sneak their way inside. Outside, I'd get swarmed by mosquitoes and gnats.

One night, I counted over two dozen sizable bugs that had somehow snuck into our cabin. Sometimes the bugs made me feel trapped because I couldn't fully escape them, no matter where I was.

This might be an annoying inconvenience for people used to suburban life or climates with fewer bugs, but for me — someone with OCD — it felt like a test from the universe.

Although every person with OCD can and will have completely different fears, obsessions, and compulsions, many of mine center on fears of germs, disease, or contamination.

For me, a fear of hurting myself or my pets due to something in the environment — for instance, ticks with Lyme disease — can trigger compulsive handwashing, body-checking, and a general sense of anxiety throughout the day. When these compulsions come into play, I often become less productive, more distracted, and late for everything.

The presence of so many bugs, plus corners layered with dust and cobwebs, triggered my fears of contamination and heightened my anxiety. Early on, I was even afraid of walking on the grass outside, since upstate New York has many more reported cases of Lyme disease than in Oregon, my home base.

I was also concerned that my spouse, while working on location in the woods or other areas, might bring ticks home on his clothes, transmit them to me, or fall ill from a bite.

Being exposed to my fears eventually helped them fade

Despite all of this, about a week in, I started to settle into cabin life a bit.

My fears were there, but nothing bad happened. The bugs didn't go away, but they didn't get us sick. The cats were happy. At one point, I walked across the grass to go see the goats on the property, and I didn't get any ticks.

It might sound silly, but for me, this was a bit of a breakthrough.

I love animals, nature, and traveling the world, but the intense, intrusive thoughts that OCD brings can make it difficult to enjoy a new adventure without a constant baseline feeling of anxiety.

The best part about living in this rural landscape was being able to see and get close to so many animals. On the property, there were free-range chickens and geese, plus wild turkeys, foxes, deer, and tons of blue jays.

And there was this squad of hilarious goats, sheep, and a cow. With time, I was able to enjoy the experience.

Spending a month in upstate New York isn't something I'd do again, and after a month at the cottage, I was excited to return to our spacious house and walkable neighborhood. But I'm grateful for the experience that allowed me to try out a new lifestyle, challenge my OCD, and come out stronger.

Redfin's 2026 analysis ranks the 10 U.S. cities where the payment on a typical home eats the biggest share of income.

The American housing market deteriorated sharply in September as rising mortgage rates drove pending home sales to a record low and sent home construction tumbling, according to reports released Tuesday. The National Association of Realtors said its index of pending

The post Housing Slump Worsens Amid Higher Rates appeared first on Breitbart.

• WalletHub released a report ranking the safest cities in the US.
• The ranking analyzed 182 US cities based on 41 safety indicators across three categories.
• Juneau, Alaska, was ranked the safest city in the US, while New Orleans was ranked the least safe.

American cities face a range of safety concerns, and the risks can vary significantly depending on location.

In some cities, natural disasters such as hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods pose the greatest threats to locals. In others, safety concerns may instead center on financial security or the overall safety of homes and communities.

WalletHub compared a total of 182 cities — the 150 largest cities in the US, plus at least two of the most populous cities in every state — to determine the safest and least-safe cities in the US.

WalletHub examined 41 safety indicators across three categories: home and community safety, natural-disaster risk, and financial safety.

To evaluate home and community safety, WalletHub looked at factors including crime rates, traffic and pedestrian fatalities, and the number of emergency responders per capita.

The natural-disaster risk ranking was determined by cities' risk-index scores for natural disasters such as earthquakes, tornadoes, and wildfires.

The financial safety ranking considered factors such as poverty and unemployment rates, as well as identity theft complaints per capita.

To conduct its analysis, WalletHub looked at data from sources including the US Census Bureau, the Bureau of Labor Statistics, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Here are the top 10 safest and least-safe cities in the US.

• At 55, I thought I would have already figured out where I want to retire in the next few years.
• Instead, I've been living out of suitcases and housesitting in different places to see what I like.
• I still don't know where I will retire, but I do have a much better idea of what I want — and don't.

I always thought I'd be settled somewhere for good by age 55, with a comfortable home, established garden, and chest freezer in the garage.

But after growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, raising my kids in Seattle, and becoming an empty nester, I realized I had no idea where I wanted to settle down.

For the first time in more than 20 years, I suddenly had the freedom to choose where I wanted to live.

So at 52, I started housesitting in exchange for places to stay so I could travel without depleting my savings. I quickly realized how much I enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle and how this gave me the opportunity to test out places I might eventually want to live in.

After a few months, I liked it so much that I gave away almost everything I owned, put the rest in storage, and decided to do it full-time.

That was almost three years ago. Since then, I've lived in dozens of cities, towns, and remote islands, from northern Washington to the southeastern coast of Mexico's Baja California peninsula.

Housesitting has changed my mind about what I thought I wanted

I typically stay in each home for two weeks to three months at a time, which allows me to get to know a new place without signing a lease, buying a house, or committing to a community.

Instead, I chat with locals, visit the library and grocery store, explore nearby nature trails, and try to imagine what it would be like to live there.

I ask myself a lot of questions: Can I tolerate this climate? Do I feel able to connect with this community? Could I live without whatever thing this place might be missing … which is sometimes as simple as my beloved Trader Joe's?

Throughout my stays, I've learned new things about myself and what I really want.

For example, I'd long pictured myself settling in a city since I've spent most of my life in major metropolitan areas.

So, I was thrilled to book a housesitting job right across the street from my old high school in San Francisco. I couldn't wait to walk the same streets I did in my youth and revisit my old haunts.

But the nostalgia wore off quickly, and a $105 street-cleaning ticket reminded me of the hassles of city life. I realized that a noisy, crowded, expensive city isn't where I want to settle after all.

These days, less traffic, more green space, and a slower pace feel more like my style.

After that stint in the city, I went to the other extreme and booked a multi-week housesit on a remote Pacific Northwest island where the closest grocery store was a ferry ride away — long enough to require ice packs and a cooler to get my frozen food home before it defrosted.

At first, I couldn't imagine staying there for more than a few weeks, but I quickly fell in love with the solitude and have returned several times.

I realized that being surrounded by water, going days without talking to another person, hearing owls hoot at night, and watching a mother deer and her fawn wander across the yard made the extra effort of island life worthwhile.

I was willing to plan errands around the ferry schedule and give up some of the conveniences I'd always taken for granted for that kind of peace.

Turns out, I'm more open to living in a remote place than I expected.

Now, I'm rethinking what it means to settle down — and if I'd even stay in the US

I'd also never even considered moving abroad until I booked a five-week housesitting gig for an American woman who had retired in La Paz, Mexico.

I felt inspired by my client's willingness to give up familiar comforts and conveniences to risk starting over in a new country in search of the life she wanted.

Although I'm not sure Mexico is where I want to settle, I loved my time in the Sonoran Desert and haven't ruled out retiring outside of the US. This experience helped me learn what living abroad was really like and realize I'm more capable of making that jump than I ever imagined if it's what I ultimately choose.

After trying out more than 50 locations in three years, I still don't know where I eventually want to retire. But I know I want to be somewhere I can walk in nature, enjoy some solitude without feeling isolated, and engage with a community when I'm ready for company.

Above all, I'm searching for a place that makes me feel at home — even when I'm visiting for the first time.

• I was living with my boyfriend when we broke up, and he suggested that we stay roommates.
• After looking into my options, I realized that living together might be the best financial move.
• It was awkward at first, but acknowledging the situation and setting boundaries helped.

I met my ex in Spain, on a warm October night in 2024. He approached me as we were both walking home from a boxing class and confidently started a conversation.

About two weeks later, we went on our first date. A few months after that, we took our first weekend trip together. In April, he surprised me with a key to his home. By June, I'd moved in.

Our relationship was built on genuine care for one another. Throughout our relationship, we always sought to support each other's well-being and growth. Of course, we had bumps here and there, but they were never significant enough to change our respect for each other.

That's why, when we agreed to break up in August because we saw our lives going in different directions, I wasn't at all surprised that we found a way to continue living together.

We broke up, but I stayed at my ex's house

Under normal circumstances, I would've moved out as soon as possible. I've always believed that you can't start to heal from a breakup until you cut all ties and communication with your ex.

So, I bought the boxes, tape, and bubble wrap, started looking for apartments, and began packing.

But then two weeks later, I lost a freelance contract that contributed a significant portion to my income. This, coupled with the fact that I was already in the middle of a lengthy visa process to make Spain my long-term home, only added to the stress of going through a breakup.

Seeing the distress I was enduring, my ex sat me down and suggested that I continue to live with him until I was able to get back on my feet again.

My first thought was that people would think I was out of my mind for choosing to live with an ex. Then, I started weighing the pros and the cons.

If I stayed, housing would be one less thing I'd have to worry about … but every day, I would have to see someone I'd just broken up with. Worst of all, I'd have to treat my ex like a roommate, as if we didn't just spend the past two years in an affectionate relationship.

If I decided to move out, I wouldn't have to see my ex every day, and I could focus on healing my broken heart alone — but I'd be in a tough financial situation.

Unlike my ex — who's lenient and open to pulling some extra weight when I can't make rent or contribute 50/50 on utilities — I knew that a landlord wouldn't necessarily care about my personal situation once the first of the month rolled around.

I chose to keep living with him.

At first, there was an adjustment period

Those first few weeks were awkward. We'd already had separate bedrooms because of my ex's insomnia, but the changes to our routines and interactions felt foreign.

Instead of getting a text inviting me to come cuddle with him on Sunday mornings, my phone remained silent. Instead of getting ready and walking to the gym together in the afternoon, I started going in the morning.

Instead of sitting down to have dinner together, we ate at different times in different rooms. Whenever we saw each other, we would force a smile, say hi, and go our separate ways.

We didn't acknowledge the strangeness of our situation until one moment broke down the barrier. I was used to having crying sessions in my room, but this time, one snuck up on me while I sat in the living room. The stress of my breakup, finances, and living situation had just built up too much.

My ex was passing through the living room when he saw me crying and gently asked if he could give me a hug. I nodded.

This interaction prompted us to finally discuss the elephant in the room (well, house): Living with your ex is weird. Simply addressing the situation and talking about how we were both coping instantly made it feel a little bit lighter.

We found a new way to live together

What followed was a conversation about how we wanted living together to look like. We knew we were doing something unusual, which was daunting, but also meant we were free to make our own rules.

Our first decision was to stop acting like strangers. Barely acknowledging each other's existence just didn't work for us, so we welcomed a level of friendliness into our new relationship.

Then, we decided we'd continue offering each other a certain level of emotional support. My ex recently took a leave of absence from work to heal from burnout and contemplate his next career move.

Meanwhile, I was struggling to find full-time work and sustain the life I was building abroad. Being there for each other when one of us needed a listening ear felt important.

Lastly, we agreed not to cross any lines that would confuse the other person. We weren't in a romantic relationship anymore, so we decided that any affection beyond a friendly hug would be prohibited.

With this, our living situation went from something that felt unbearable to something that works for us. In the next few months, I plan to save enough from my freelance work to move out. Until then, I'm happy knowing I have a home, even if it's with my ex.

• Heidi Widmer is a 35-year-old who moved into an apartment building in Los Angeles in July.
• For the first two weeks, she heard a loud sound from the apartment above and was annoyed.
• She found out the noise was being made by her neighbor, who has Parkinson's.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Heidi Widmer. It has been edited for length and clarity.

In July, I moved into an apartment in Los Angeles, exhausted from a six-day drive across the country from New York. All I wanted to do was get into the apartment and sleep, and luckily, my bed had been delivered on the same day I arrived.

Trying to fall asleep at 2 a.m., all I could hear was a loud noise coming from the apartment upstairs. It sounded as if someone was bowling. Although I was tempted to shout for them to be quiet, I held my tongue — I was the new neighbor and didn't want to be difficult.

But the noise just didn't seem to stop. Whoever lived up there also never came downstairs. Who lives up there? I thought to myself.

I realized my neighbor had Parkinson's

Two weeks after moving in, I heard someone coming down the stairs and had to get a glimpse of who lived above me.

Peeking out of my door, I saw Carole for the first time, slowly making her way down the stairs, shaking badly from what was clearly Parkinson's, and trying to carry a bunch of bags full of recycling.

Just as I was about to open the door to see if she needed help, she dropped all the bags with only a couple of steps left. I burst out of my apartment to help her.

"Oh my gosh, thank you," she said in her sweet British accent. "Did you just move in? Am I too loud for you?"

In that moment, I felt totally and completely humbled.

Having grown up in the Catholic church, I was taught never to judge a book by its cover, and with Carole, I hadn't even seen the cover. I judged her simply by the noise she produced upstairs. How could I be so judgmental?

It turns out that sound had been Carole rolling a three-wheeled, broken chair across her floor to get to her mini fridge — the mini fridge social services had given her when her refrigerator broke. She had to hoist herself out of her broken chair to get down and access the mini fridge.

That was the noise.

I was determined to figure out what I could do to help

Two days after we met, I knocked on her door. She peeked through and nervously let me in. The conditions inside weren't great.

Although she can live independently, she just needs a little help. I later learned that she doesn't like accepting help from people, especially social services. The fact that she is frightened of the very people meant to help her breaks my heart.

That day, I took all of her trash out for her, reassuring her I wasn't judging her at all.

In the weeks and now months that have followed, I have been up to Carole's to help with the trash, cooking (she'd only been having microwave meals), cleaning, and contacting the landlord to get him to replace and repair items in the apartment. We've decorated her apartment, too.

I raised $80,000 to help her out

Together, we made her an Amazon wish list, and I shared it on social media so that people could order things she needs and have them delivered directly to her. People have been so generous, purchasing things like an expensive Buddhist "butsudan" that Carole didn't expect anyone to buy.

We set up a GoFundMe, which has raised about $80,000, and we plan to use the funds to have a stair lift installed for her. Any leftover money will be spent on in-home care as she continues to age and her Parkinson's Disease progresses.

I know I've been helpful to Carole in these last few months, but she's been the perfect person at the perfect time for me, too. Moving to LA, I had hardly any connections. Lots of Carole's family members are either no longer living or back in the UK (she moved here in her 20s as an au pair).

Carole became the family I haven't had, and I became hers. We text back and forth each day, and I see her most days. She calls me granddaughter, and I see her as my grandmother.

When I've had a hard day at work teaching at a local middle school, Carole is ready to give me a big hug when I get home. She's been my safe space, and I've been hers. The universe knew we needed each other.

It's an unlikely connection, but it shows that when you lead with kindness rather than judgment, the person you were ready to judge can become someone you can't imagine your life without.

• I enjoyed living in a small, one-bedroom apartment with my family of three for years.
• Once we moved to a house more than triple the size, I totally changed my minimalist mindset.
• Now that we live in a bigger space, I can't imagine going back to living small or minimally.

When my husband and I bought our apartment in Kyiv back in 2017, we were thrilled to finally have a family nest of our own.

It was a cozy, 500-square-foot place with one bedroom, and we meticulously planned to optimize every inch of it. Our kitchen table doubled as my workspace, and our living room couch became the guest bed whenever family stayed over.

Hosting required pure creative problem-solving and, with limited seating around our small table, I'd sometimes feed guests in shifts. It was chaotic at times, but I didn't mind.

After our son was born, bright plastic toys, endless boxes of diapers, and bulky baby gear started claiming every free corner of our apartment. With the three of us packed into a single bedroom, finding space was a daily puzzle, but we made it work.

Surprisingly, living so close together didn't feel limited back then — it felt intimate, cozy, and deeply fulfilling. Then COVID-19 hit.

Spending so much time indoors made me feel isolated, and for the first time, I began dreaming about more living space. But we barely had time to figure things out before life took a drastic turn: When the war in Ukraine escalated in 2022, we made the heavy, life-changing decision to relocate to Canada.

A few months after moving, we began renting a two-bedroom house, where we currently reside. At 1,700 square feet, it wasn't considered especially large by local standards, but to us, it felt vast.

It didn't take long to adjust to having more space — and to quickly fill it up

At first, our house seemed almost too large for just three people.

For the first time, we had two bedrooms and a basement, which instantly doubled our usable space at a ground level.

After years of apartment living, though, the sheer thought of having so much space to keep clean felt exhausting. However, it didn't take long to change my mind.

It turns out that when both you and your belongings finally have room to breathe — and you've got a trusty robot vacuum doing the heavy lifting — life shines in completely different colors.

It's also been wonderful to have more room to host, from a dedicated guest space (in the basement) to a table big enough to actually seat larger groups.

In time, we began to pick up local habits and traditions, too. Many of our neighbors in Canada decorate for different holidays, so we started joining in.

And of course, seasonal decor needs a place to be stored when it's not in use — and since we now had a full basement, I didn't feel super limited with what I could buy.

A lot of neighbors also had an extra stand-alone freezer in their homes. It seemed ridiculous for our family of three to also get one … until my first Costco run.

I caved when I realized I needed a place for all those bulk-sized boxes of frozen food. In our bigger home, large grocery hauls began feeling normal.

Gradually, I felt a shift in my identity: I was no longer the strict minimalist I used to be.

In Kyiv, whenever my husband wanted a new kitchen gadget or a giant toy truck for our son, I was firm about saying no. We simply didn't have room for "extra." I took pride in keeping our home completely clutter-free.

But between the extra space and North American convenience, I'd completely changed my minimalist rules. Now, saying "yes" to big additions — like the bulky food dehydrator I'd been eyeing for drying fruits and vegetables, or the roomy couch we'd dreamed of for years — felt easy.

I didn't need to worry about where something would be stored or if it'd take up too much space: We finally had the room to bring those dreams home.

Ultimately, my family and I have thrived with more room to breathe

Over time, I realized this shift was much deeper than just being able to shop more and store more stuff. In a bigger space, our family had room to breathe and grow.

In Kyiv, our whole routine and my minimalist mindset felt shaped by how tight everything felt, but here, the extra room opened up a whole new chapter.

I've become more outgoing, more relaxed, and genuinely excited to gather people together. Our home has turned into a place for hosting friends, cooking weekend dinners, and laughing over backyard barbecues.

Living small was a beautiful, intimate part of my life that I will always hold close to my heart. It taught me intentionality and gratitude.

However, creating space to thrive, host, and watch my family grow has completely transformed my definition of home — now, going back to 500 square feet no longer feels like an option.

• Andrew Koller owns property in Canada, but decided to buy a home in Japan after visiting.
• Koller spent $15,000 CAD on an akiya and spent months renovating it.
• He plans to visit on occasion and rent it out some of the time.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Andrew Koller, 31, a freelance camera operator who purchased a home in Yamagata, Japan, in March. Koller, who's based in Edmonton, Canada, renovated the home and plans to use it as a vacation home. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

Like a lot of millennials, I was exposed to Japanese culture in some sense early on with "Naruto," "Pokemon," and "Dragon Ball Z." After that, I don't think my interest really left.

Come 2020, I had a bunch of time on my hands like everybody else. It seemed like a good time to finally learn Japanese. I've been learning Japanese with a private tutor since then.

Then, in 2023, I made my first trip to Japan.

Like everybody else who comes back from their first trip to Japan, I just fell in love. I couldn't stop talking about it, but I wanted a deeper connection to the community.

I wanted more than just the superficial, surface-level experience of Japanese life. So I thought maybe a good way to get that experience would be to buy a house that's not in a major tourist city, somewhat live there, and spend a good chunk of time over there getting involved with the community by renovating a forgotten property.

The algorithm was watching for sure. After my first Japan trip, my YouTube and Instagram algorithms were suggesting to me all these similar people doing similar things.

From that, I was like, this seems like something I can do. In my free time, I like to DIY. I have a little workshop — I wouldn't say I'm good at it, but I feel like I know enough to do the basics.

I'm at the point in my life now where I've had all these ideas and I've said, "Oh, it'd be cool to do this," but I never do it. I never follow through. I just wanted to prove to myself that I actually followed through on one of these somewhat whimsical ideas.

The house I bought in Japan cost a fraction of what houses cost in Canada

I've always been interested in real estate since a young age.

Purchasing your first house is doable, but if you want to purchase a second house after that, like a rental, it's extremely challenging to do that in Canada. Canada's housing market has exploded, especially in Alberta.

I'm in a very fortunate position where my partner and I own a house and we own a rental property as well close to the university area.

I bought the rental house when I was 20 with my parents — they had to sign on because no bank was going to loan a 20-year-old kid a mortgage. I rented out the rooms and then I lived for free for my time in college.

Both houses have a similar value. My primary residence is worth just under $600,000 CAD (about $422,880). When we bought the rental 10 years ago, it was around $500,000 CAD, but it's gone up since.

For my home in Japan, I spent $15,000 CAD (about $10,600) on the purchase price plus closing costs, which was another $3,000 CAD.

I can definitely see myself spending extended time in Japan.

I want to go out there at least a few times a year. It's close to a pretty big ski resort, and I snowboard.

Doing the math for that, if I was to go stay in Banff or Jasper — one of the more popular mountain towns in Alberta — for a week and ski, it's actually cheaper to fly to Japan, because the skiing is also very affordable, so that was a big factor for me.

I would like to rent it out, but I don't plan on making a lot of money from it

I went to Japan in October 2025 to look at properties. I made an offer in November, it got accepted, and then I got possession of the property in March 2026. Then I went up for the entire month of April to start renovations on it.

I wanted to respect what was already there when I went in. Even though the house itself wasn't ancient or historical — it was built in the '60s or '70s — it was very traditionally built with the Tatami rooms. I wanted to keep a lot of that, coming in as a Westerner.

I wanted to try and adapt to their way of life rather than trying to impose my own. I just wanted to complement what was already there.

Now, the house is 98% done.

The actual renovation costs right now are just over the purchase cost. So I'm at around $18,000 CAD and change, doing most of it myself.

Right now, the goal would be to do a short-term rental in the future, but I don't plan on it making a lot of money.

I think that's the one thing people will get confused about. They think, "If I do this and renovate it, I can make a ton of money off a short-term rental in Japan." That's not the case, because there's so much competition with the hotels there that are already amazing and very affordable.

I just want to cover the maintenance costs more than anything. Doing a little bit of short-term rental, I think, will help with that.

It's not an asset. I think maybe people go to Japan with the Western mindset, like, "Oh, it's a buy-and-hold asset." Outside of Tokyo and the big cities, real estate doesn't do that.

Real estate always goes down in value over time. If you're buying a house in Japan, go in with the expectation that it's not as much of a financial asset as it is a recreation: you'll get more of a cultural experience.

• Jen Podany raised her three children in a busy Los Angeles neighborhood where traffic limited their independence.
• After moving to a small Arizona town, her kids can ride bikes and play with neighborhood friends.
• She says their new lifestyle reminds her of the freedom children had growing up in the 1980s.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jen Podany, founder of Bluestone Sunshields. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Near the end of 2024, my family of five had once again escaped Los Angeles for the quiet we found 10 hours south in Snowflake, Arizona.

We'd been doing it for years, renting an Airbnb in Snowflake, a town of 6,000 in the middle of nowhere, switching off amid the miles of empty land.

It had started as a stopover on our way to visit my husband's family in New Mexico. We fell in love with the town, and from then on, we'd visit whenever we needed to get away from the busyness of LA.

In Snowflake, we felt like we could catch our breath. Our souls calmed each time we arrived and ached to stay each time we left.

We put an offer on a house

Back in LA, specifically Burbank, the five of us — my husband and our three children, whom we homeschooled — lived in a duplex made up of two connected apartments. We lived in one of them, which had two bedrooms and one bathroom. From the other apartment, my husband and I ran our two separate businesses.

The duplex was in a neighborhood near a busy street, and we had to be cautious about letting the kids go outside to play because of the cars. I was always holding someone's little hand when we were out, just in case. You could hear planes flying back and forth into Burbank Airport. As our kids and businesses grew, we felt increasingly confined.

Then we saw a house on the market in Snowflake, and I felt in my bones that we should put in an offer.

It was a four-bedroom house surrounded by land, chickens, cows, and a crazy turkey. We could buy it and have our own place to stay when visiting, rather than always renting an Airbnb.

We bought the house for about $500,000, and on our first visit to stay in it in January 2025, none of us wanted to go back to Burbank.

We knew then that we'd make Snowflake our home. And so we did.

We moved from Los Angeles to a town of 6,000 people

In so many ways, our life looks exactly like life in LA. Our routines have remained the same. Every morning, just like in LA, we start our day at a coffee shop. Except in Snowflake, there's only one place to go instead of 20 choices. We work, we homeschool, we eat our meals, and we go to sleep — just like we did in LA.

But by transplanting our lives to a quiet town, we all feel calmer and more peaceful.

Personally, my nervous system has regulated. In LA, I felt like the world was constantly coming at me, like I was being bombarded and reacting to everything around me. Here, I feel like I'm in the driver's seat, with a clear head.

Not only has it been good for my well-being, but it's also been good for my business. The move has given me the mental space to think bigger. It's led to greater creativity, paving the way for business growth.

My kids have an 80s childhood

My kids love Snowflake, too. I didn't have to convince them about the move.

They have the freedom to be out of the house without worrying about cars and crime. Just a bike ride away are other kids with whom they are often found playing.

I think kids grow up quickly in cities, and living here, I feel like my kids get to just be kids. It's like going back to being a kid in the '80s, and I love that for them.

The house is bigger, so we aren't living on top of each other, but they've also got endless outdoor space to explore.

Even though I lived in LA for 20 years, we never experienced friendship and community as we have in just over a year in Snowflake.

We can't leave the house without seeing someone who wants to stop and talk. Everyone here is on "mountain time" — slowing down. No one is rushing around, head down, looking at their phones, too hurried to have a conversation.

Everyone is present and friendly.

My husband and I still occasionally have to go to LA for work, and each time we come back home to Snowflake, I take a deep breath and know we made the right decision to relocate our family.

• When it comes to money, I'm a big budgeter, and my husband prefers taking risks.
• Now that we're building a house together, our differences are causing some disagreements.
• We've learned to stay flexible and balance each other's approaches.

My husband and I have very different ideas about financial responsibility.

When we're feeling stressed about money, my instinct is to run the numbers and account for every financial what-if. He's a big-picture dreamer who sees what something could become and is more willing to say, "We'll figure it out."

His attitude has paid off before. He had the vision for our first home, which we bought for under $100,000 and recently sold for a decent profit after 13 years of renovations.

I know some of the best things we've done together wouldn't have happened without my husband's willingness to take a chance, but our differences have still caused some friction over the years.

Now that we're building a new home together, we're trying to balance my need to plan for the unknown with his belief that we'll find a way forward.

After 13 years, we took a risk and sold our home

For 13 years, we'd lived in the same place. My husband had moved frequently as a child, and he wanted his two daughters to have a consistent place to call home.

Leaving this house behind was bittersweet, but my oldest stepdaughter had just bought her own house, and my younger one was heading off to college. We were ready for what came next.

We could have bought an existing house needing renovations. Instead, we found land in southern Maine that felt worth taking a risk on.

We've always loved the area. My family has an annual reunion there, where we spend a week at the beach. Our new property will hopefully give us that lifestyle without the summer crowds: It's more than 2 ½ acres with hiking trails next door, a nearby kayak and paddleboard launch, and the ocean just a short drive away.

We decided to go for it, and by the end of August, our old house was nearly empty. My younger stepdaughter left for college on a Wednesday, we moved the rest of our things to a rental on a Thursday, and officially sold the house that Friday.

Every estimate comes with an 'unless'

In September, we began building our 1,500-square-foot house.

We're now paying $3,000 a month for a rental home — with a construction loan on top of that — and keeping track of a lot of numbers, from lumber and labor to excavation, plumbing, electrical, permits, and finishes.

My husband is doing most of the construction himself, which is what makes this project possible. If we had to pay for all of the labor, we probably couldn't afford to build right now.

However, that's not to say this hasn't been a very stressful time. We think we've accounted for everything, but every estimate has an asterisk: Unless lumber prices go up. Unless a contractor's price changes.

Unless we hit ledge — that is, solid bedrock beneath the soil that can be expensive to excavate. We might have to rethink the foundation or adjust the entire plan once we see what's underground.

I find that uncomfortable, but my husband doesn't.

We're leaving room to adjust

My husband can picture what this property could become over time, and has big dreams for it.

He wanted a garage, a small cottage where our family could stay when they visit, a little more space, and nicer finishes in some areas. I kept bringing us back to what we could afford right now, and how much we wanted to keep in savings rather than put everything into the house.

After a lot of discussion, we decided to start small. We're building for the life we have today, while — at his request — leaving room for the one we might want tomorrow. The garage and cottage can wait. For now, we're focusing on getting the house right without stretching our budget too far.

That means staying flexible. For instance, my husband wants a finished basement, and I agreed, knowing this would give us the option to add a third bedroom down the road.

Though the cost difference between a basement and an unfinished crawl space isn't huge upfront, hitting ledge could put us thousands — or even tens of thousands — over budget.

We're willing to give the basement a shot, but if excavation costs start climbing, we may have to scale back to a crawl space and save the extra bedroom for another day.

We have a plan, but we know it might change once we get further into the build. I'll keep making the spreadsheets and asking for the numbers. He'll keep looking at the big picture and reminding me why we decided to do this.

This project, and my husband, have taught me that financial responsibility isn't necessarily about eliminating every risk, but knowing which risks are worth taking and staying open to changing course.

• Oxford Economics' 2026 Global Cities Index ranked cities around the world on their quality of life.
• US cities ranked highly for economics, but fell short in the quality of life category.
• European cities dominated the quality of life list, while only one US city made the top 20.

Cities in the US rank high globally in terms of economics, but they have some ground to cover in quality of life, according to a new report.

For its 2026 Global Cities Index, economic advisory firm Oxford Economics ranked 1,000 cities across the globe based on five categories: economics, human capital, environment, and quality of life.

Every category is viewed from an economic lens, even quality of life, where indicators include income equality and housing expenditure, among others.

"The Global Cities Index records the progress cities are making across a comprehensive range of metrics," Mark Britton, managing director of city services at Oxford Economics, said in the report. "Sitting alongside our forecasts and scenario models, its ability to highlight how paths change under different conditions and its capacity for comparability shows you not just where cities stand today, but also where they are heading."

The overall list features several US cities in the top 20 — eight, to be exact, with New York taking the No. 1 spot. However, when highlighting quality of life specifically, only one US city made the cut.

Quality of life, which accounts for 25% of a city's overall score, wasn't a bright spot for the US, but plenty of other cities excelled in that category. See which cities ranked highest in quality of life, according to Oxford Economics.

• When my husband and I got married, we had to decide where to live.
• My son and I ended up moving into his 2-bedroom home.
• There are a few pros, but we didn't consider how much we'd miss having a guest room.

When my husband and I got married, we each had our own homes. I had a one-story, 3-bedroom home, while my husband had a 2-story, two-bedroom townhome. At first, we compared the pros and cons of each house. For instance, my house had a large yard, which can be a perk size-wise, but lawn maintenance was a chore.

While my husband was willing to move, we ultimately chose his house, mainly because it was so close to his job. I knew from experience what a blessing an easy commute is, and I didn't want him to have to give it up, so we decided to consolidate. My son and I moved from our 3-bedroom home to my husband's 2-bedroom townhouse.

I was giddy when we got married, and thinking more about moving in together and planning our wedding than the long-term realities of living in a smaller home.

The lack of an extra bedroom was an issue we didn't foresee

My son and I still occasionally miss our old home, but I don't regret selling my home and moving in with my husband. The worst part of downsizing has been no longer having a guest room.

I mainly used the third room in my house as an office, but the bedrooms at my husband's house were large enough that there would be room for an office in ours. And my son would still have his own bedroom, so we didn't realize how much we'd miss the extra bedroom until it was too late.

It's nearly impossible for us to have anyone spend the night or a weekend with us

I'd mostly thought of the extra room as my office, and didn't consider that we also used it as a guest room. Now, without it, it's difficult to have anyone over for the night. We have a few options, but none of them are appealing to anyone, including our potential guests.

When I had my own home, it was so easy to have friends visit for the weekend, because I could offer them a room. Having space for guests is a privilege I didn't realize I'd miss. I can still offer the chance to stay, but when someone takes us up on it, my husband and I feel kind of awful the whole time.

We've had guests overnight and offered them the couch pullout or the air mattress. But despite our best efforts, everyone feels a little awkward because our guests have no privacy without an actual room of their own.

Sometimes, we've thought of offering our bedrooms — or at least one of them — while my son would get displaced to the living room on an air mattress. He honestly loves doing that anyway, because he thinks it's like a sleepover, but the problem comes in the morning.

Our downstairs space is pretty much just the living room and kitchen, so when someone comes downstairs in the morning, whoever's sleeping on the giant air mattress — whether our guests or my son — will inevitably be woken up.

In our next home, having an extra bedroom will be a requirement

My husband and I both miss having guests, as he could also have more guests over before my son and I moved in. We don't like that we don't feel we can offer loved ones a place to stay, or that when we do, the best we can offer them is an air mattress or my 12-year-old's bedroom.

In addition to wanting to have more company over, my husband and I have aging parents. We don't want to find ourselves in a situation where one of them needs living assistance, and we don't have the space.

There are a few things we want in a forever home, like a more spacious kitchen, of course, and a giant garden in the back, but having a guest room again is at the top of our list.

• Shalini Bonjour is building a 1,100-square-foot ADU in her backyard so her mother can age in place.
• The project is taking longer than she expected and is going over budget.
• Bonjour shared the five biggest lessons she's learned during the process with Business Insider.

After her father died in 2024, real estate agent Shalini Karnani Bonjour moved her mother from Michigan to California to be closer to her and her family.

"My husband and I didn't feel comfortable having her so far away, especially when it came to her day-to-day needs," Bonjour, 50, told Business Insider.

Later that year, the family bought a home with a backyard large enough to build an accessory dwelling unit for her mother. In 2025, they broke ground on a 1,100-square-foot ADU. But what was expected to be a six-week project has dragged on for months and cost the family thousands more than expected.

"The whole process has been difficult because there are so many things to manage," Bonjour said. "You're trying to keep the project affordable, keep your neighbors happy, and stay on track. I can only imagine how overwhelming this would feel for someone without any insight into the process, because it is a huge undertaking."

Here are five hard lessons Bonjour has learned from the project, from choosing the right contractor to budgeting enough money for unexpected challenges.

The historic hotel next to Central Park, featured in 'Home Alone 2: Lost in New York' and 'Eloise at the Plaza,' is shutting down for renovations.

• We asked interior designer Lane Mari to share which design trends she'd never have in her kitchen.
• The designer said she stays away from cheap appliances and synthetic materials.
• She also avoids black hardware and harsh overhead lighting in favor of warmer materials and shades.

The kitchen is often one of the most-used spaces in a home, whether you're cooking for family or hosting friends.

With so much time spent there, the design choices you make can have a big impact on how the space looks and feels.

To help you avoid any kitchen-design missteps, Business Insider asked Lane Mari, an interior designer with experience in both design and construction, what she'd never have in her own kitchen and what she recommends instead.

Here's what she had to say.

• Harvard's endowment returned a five-year high of 27.1% in the 12 months to June 30, besting the S&P 500.
• The Ivy League college counted a $2.2 billion SpaceX stake as its top Q2 portfolio holding by far.
• Harvard's endowment grew to almost $68 billion after accounting for taxes, gifts, and distributions.

Harvard University delivered its best investment return in five years as its bet on SpaceX boosted its stock portfolio.

The elite college's endowment returned 27.1% in the fiscal year ended June 30, its annual financial report revealed on Thursday. That comfortably outpaced the benchmark S&P 500's 22.3% total return over the same period.

After accounting for taxes, distributions, and gifts, Harvard's endowment grew by $11 billion to nearly $68 billion.

Harvard Management Company's stake in Elon Musk's maker of Starship rockets, Starlink satellites, and AI chatbot Grok was worth $2.2 billion at the end of June, per its second-quarter portfolio disclosure.

SpaceX was its number-one holding, more than six times more valuable than its second-biggest position, a sub-$350 million stake in Taiwan Semiconductor.

Its next-largest positions — each worth over $150 million — were Cerebras, Amazon, Alphabet, and Nvidia. Its 19 holdings at the end of June were together worth about $4.3 billion, more than double the portfolio's $1.8 billion value three months earlier.

Harvard said the strong performance of its endowment, which is nearly 400 years old and comprises about 15,000 individual funds, helped it weather the "abrupt termination of federal research grants" by the Trump administration.

It's worth noting that 13-F portfolio disclosures are a snapshot of a fund's US stock holdings on a certain date. They don't include foreign-listed stocks, non-stock assets like bonds or real estate, private investments, or stocks sold short.

Harvard said that as of June 30, 14% of its endowment was invested in public equities, 29% in hedge funds, 46% in private equity, 4% in real estate, and the balance elsewhere.

Harvard declined to comment when contacted by Business Insider.

SpaceX's valuation has whipsawed since the aerospace company went public on June 12. Its market capitalization topped $2.4 trillion on June 20, then tanked to $1.4 trillion by August 1, and has since rallied to around $2 trillion.

Musk's company posted a 92% year-on-year revenue jump for the quarter ended June, helping narrow its net loss from $1 billion to $541 million.

The world's richest man recently posted on X that he sees a path for SpaceX to be worth "orders of magnitude more than the current Earth economy," implying its stock could rise at least 6,000-fold to $12 quadrillion over time.

He later clarified that wasn't a "statement of extreme confidence," but he believes the probability of achieving that valuation is "not zero." On October 14, he said he expects SpaceX to be worth more than $100 trillion in the next 10 years.

Harvard is one of several shareholders to reveal a sizable stake in SpaceX. Google parent Alphabet reported a roughly 4% stake valued at $94 billion as of the end of June. Longtime Musk associate Peter Thiel disclosed a 3.2% position worth $73 billion held by his Founders Fund and related entities. AI chipmaker Nvidia has a $21 billion stake.

• Valerie Cherry was thrilled when her first grandchild was born. She wanted to be a hands-on grandma.
• The mom-of-one yearned to be closer to the young family but was reluctant to leave her hometown.
• With 1,000 miles between them, she found a "middle ground" by renting nearby for half of the year.

This story is based on an interview with Valerie Cherry, 68, a clinical psychologist from Tampa, Florida. It has been edited for length and clarity.

My husband, Glenn, 68, and I were delighted when our first grandchild — a little girl —was born four years ago.

Our son, Jamal, is an only child, and we are a very close-knit family.

We rushed from our home in Tampa to help him and our daughter-in-law, Sierra, who had settled 1,000 miles away in Houston, with the demands of a baby.

Our trips lasted between a month and six weeks, and there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing between the two cities.

We'd either stay with the family or rent Airbnbs to give everyone a bit of space.

It felt great to be hands-on and useful, especially because Jamal and Sierra work very hard in finance and forensic psychology, respectively.

Back home in Florida, though, we lived life to the full in our gated, suburban community. Glenn, a relief veterinarian, and I had meaningful friendships there.

We knew lots of people, particularly fellow alumni from our colleges in Georgia. There was always something going on, like book clubs and fundraising activities.

Then our grandson was born two years ago. We continued our long visits to care for him and his sister, flying between the two cities.

We started to look at places in Houston

Soon after his birth, Jamal and Sierra approached us about what it felt like when we weren't there. They were a bit nervous and wanted to know whether we'd consider moving close by.

We were torn. As much as we wanted to be with our grandchildren, we valued our time in Tampa. Still, we started to look at places in Houston.

The trouble was that if we were to purchase something in Houston, it would have had to be in the suburbs. Traffic is terrible, so it would have been around a 40-minute drive to my son's.

Another factor was that we didn't want to be tied down by taxes, insurance, and all of that in Texas because we didn't want to give up our home in Tampa.

I Googled other options and came across a building called Landing right in downtown, a little over 10 minutes from the family.

It was different from other arrangements because you could stay there for as long or as short a period as you liked.

We paid a membership fee and secured a two-bedroom apartment that was already furnished. The only things we brought were a couple of pots for the kitchen.

We found a middle ground

It now works out that we spend around seven months a year in Houston and five in Florida. However, the 4,800-square-foot house in Tampa is classified as our main residence.

The apartment is much smaller at 1,600 square feet, but we like it very much. There are two swimming pools in the building, playrooms, and a basketball court.

I feel like we have found a middle ground. We can spend quality time with our grandkids, especially when their parents are on a date or away for the weekend.

We're busy planning for Halloween this year as it's a big thing for us all.

We haven't lost our identity as grandparents

Meanwhile, if one of the children gets a fever at day care or school, Glenn or I can pick them up. It's an extra pair of hands.

We haven't lost our identity now that we're known as Nana and Papa. We regularly fly back and forth to Florida to enjoy the company of longtime friends.

Our neighbors keep an eye on the house while we're away, too. It's reassuring.

I know we're privileged to be in this position, but it really is the best of both worlds.