A family of three, we’re living in moderate sized appartement. It’s located in a friendly neighborhood not too far from the dunes and beach. It’s a cosy place, reflecting our shared lives. And aversion to overly grown-up fuss. As we’d call it.
We are happy here. And yet, we’re casually considering other places to live; more room would be nice, perhaps a garden, and so on. It’s what happens to families at the stage of live we’re in I guess: You see people around you move on, you start making a bit more money yourselves and the dots in your head automatically start connecting: We could go bigger, better.
Trying to stay aware of the mechanism at work we regularly remind ourselves that we are happy here. We have a good home and we don’t need bigger or ‘better’. And then I find myself going through house listings again.