Why on earth did I leave the 'dream home'?

Am I mad? Possibly. But here’s the real reason I left our so-called ‘dream home.

It’s a funny thing, working so hard to create something beautiful and then deciding to walk away from it.

The house we lived for the last seven years has been good to us. It was what we could afford at the time, it had potential, it was in a lovely location. It made sense. We spent years making it lovely, smoothing out its rough edges, turning it into a place that felt like home.

And yet, if I’m honest, it was never the dream. It was a version of the dream, the best one available at the time. From the very beginning, I knew we’d settled for this house - when what we really wanted was something else entirely..

And so, we always kept an eye out for the dream house. Not because the previous house wasn’t wonderful, but because it was never quite ours in the way that matters most.

when something beautiful isn’t quite right

There’s a restlessness that comes from knowing you’ve done everything right, ticked every box, and yet something still feels temporary. Not in a tragic way, not in an ungrateful way, but a quiet, persistent feeling that whispers: this isn’t it.

There’s no logic to it, but there is a sense of rightness. And what I’ve come to realise is that I don’t want the perfect house. I want to live my life without worrying about making mistakes. To say yes to things that are exciting, even if they’re scary. I don’t want to always try to do the sensible thing, rather I want to fulfil my dreams now - not wait until retirement, or the perfect moment.

If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that life is fragile, unpredictable, and at times, cruel. We like to believe we have time. But that’s not true. Some of us don’t. So I want to live my life now. Today.

And for me, the dream was always a rambling period house, waiting somewhere out in the countryside. A house wearing its history in peeling paint and draughty windows, asking to be cared for, rather than simply admired.

longing for something wilder

I’ve always been drawn to things with a little wildness left in them- houses, landscapes, lives. I don’t want a home that is simply beautiful; I want a home that asks something of me. That has stories buried in its walls, light that falls just so, a front door that sticks in the sunshine and creaks in the cold. A house that demands patience and humour and an acceptance that perfection is not the goal.

And so, we swapped our ‘perfect’ house to a house that is - by all rational standards - completely impractical. It needs work. It needs everything. It is a house with a leaking roof, an uncertain heating system and the wiring has left our electrician genuinely baffled.

And yet, it already feels more like home already - warts and all. Maybe more than any house I’ve ever lived in. But then, I do have a tendency to believe that everything is always better today than it was yesterday…

can you spot a cat?

the courage to follow your dreams

People have been slightly horrified by this decision. But you just finished renovating! they say. But it’s your dream home! they insist. But it makes no sense!

And they’re right, in a way. But here’s the thing: sometimes the dream isn’t what you thought it would be. Sometimes, despite getting everything you once wanted, you realise you were aiming for the wrong thing all along.

The world tells us to be sensible. To choose what’s safe. What makes sense on paper. Don’t take risks - you might regret them. Don’t chase the impractical- you might fail.

But I think, perhaps, I want something different.
Less certainty. Fewer neat edges. More life in the cracks. More wholehearted leaps, even if they come with wobbles.

Maybe it seems like we’re making a mistake. But I have a feeling that by stepping away from what looked right on paper, we’re actually moving closer to the life we’re meant to live.

So here we go- into the mess, into the uncertainty, into the house that needs us as much as we need it.

And I can’t wait.