Living with less fosters expansion

Living with less fosters expansion

I’ve been tracking the physical footprint of my life over the last several years, and it looks like this:

Family home: 1.3 acres + car

2019 — 2020: 750 sqft, 1 bedroom, no car

2020 — 2022: ~650 sqft studio, no car

2022 — 2024: 1,300 sqft, 2 bedroom, no car

2024 — Present: ~320 sqft studio, no car (the ultimate freedom)

Traveling:

2010: checking a large suitcase

2017: 50L carry-on spinner

2019: 42L backpack

2026: 32L backpack

A lot of people feel sad for me when I mention my small apartment today. They assume I’m unhappy because I kept moving, my apartment is smaller than many living rooms, and I haven’t owned a vehicle in several years. I guess to some degree, I kept moving because I was unhappy. But a part of me always dreamed of being in a tiny home and living like a nomad, and after some trial and error and exhausting life experiments, the universe gave me a version of it I never expected. It’s more liberating than I could’ve imagined.

I grew up thinking success meant having more. Owning more. Having a large portfolio under your name, including a family of your own. But with all that comes responsibility… the insurance, the bills, the maintenance, the intense physical and emotional investment, and the long work hours required to keep it all afloat. It’s the “hamster wheel” life — a stress that, at minimum, sits as a low hum in the back of your brain. As I worked toward that common blueprint that everyone told me I should have, I realized I was becoming a prisoner of my own possessions… and listening to what everyone said I should have. There’s a massive difference between everyone else’s opinions and your own gut instinct.

Take the car, for instance. Everyone told me I wouldn’t be able to enjoy life without one. I’ll admit, living without a vehicle in a very car-dependent city has its challenges, but for how I move through my days, ownership genuinely doesn’t make sense. And I know myself: if I had a car, I’d be on the road all day every day — overscheduled, overstimulated, never still. Not having one forces me to slow down, protect my peace, and embrace the quiet and rest I know I need. It’s a boundary I chose on purpose, and it’s one of the best intentional decisions I’ve made to date.

If I’m being completely honest, I’m actually living the life my inner child dreamed of. In kindergarten, my favorite show was a series that tested the latest vehicles on the market. In grade school, I was a total car junkie, aspiring to be an automotive design engineer, a test driver, or an automotive photographer. By not owning a car, I get to rent the newest models to run errands or take road trips. I pay as I go, having a vehicle only when I truly need one. It’s been a brilliant move: I’m more intentional with my time, and I get the mental stimulation of a scavenger hunt — figuring out where all the buttons, levers, and dials are and what they do, basking in the ingenuity behind the designs. The little girl in me finally gets to be the vehicle evaluator she always dreamed of being.

So I didn’t just downsize my things. I went against the grain to untether my entire life path.

Over the last nine years, I’ve received heat for another deeply personal choice: no longer wanting to have kids of my own. My timeline went from 4 to 3 to 2 to 1 to adoption to none. It wasn’t a reckless decision, but a deliberate pivot made over a lifetime of experiences, experiments, and profound shifts in perspective. I realized that the traditional family path wasn’t part of my destiny anymore, and that this space I’m in right now is exactly where I am meant to be.

Choosing a child-free, minimalist life in a society obsessed with physical expansion has its challenges as well. It often feels like being in a room full of people who consciously choose to misunderstand you. Even now, I experience people, often other moms, subtly trying to convince me to change my mind. While I know they mean well, there’s a bit of Stockholm syndrome that loiters in those conversations, and it feels disrespectful when a deeply considered life choice isn’t honored.

But standing firm in these choices has redefined success for me. It is no longer about the traditional milestones I check off, but the ability to design my life in alignment with my truth. I am proud of this joy and inner peace I get to embody every day. And despite what the critics think, living small hasn’t made my life lonely; it has actually enabled me to expand in ways I never expected.

Because I am untethered, I have the time to pursue my goals and dreams without reservation or compromise. I have the bandwidth to create real impact — whether through one-on-one mentoring, community service, or the side projects I’m navigating. I am surrounded by a chosen community of people I can wholeheartedly trust with my life. And by taking and using only what I need, I can leave the rest for others to thrive too. I remain whole, while giving myself to something much bigger than myself.

The traditions of our ancestors understood this hundreds of years ago. What African philosophy calls Ubuntu — I am because we are. What Andean Indigenous thought calls Buen Vivir — not living more, but living well, in harmony with community. And what the Haudenosaunee people practiced for generations — making decisions not just for today, but for the seven generations who come after you.

You don’t have to birth the next generations to care about leaving a better world for them, or have children to feel like you’re a part of something greater than yourself. It’s not a new idea. We just forgot it.