Downsizing in an Upsize World
Throughout the years, I moved quite a bit — every two or three years, to be exact. Every house needed renovation. Every house brought new neighbors who became good friends, new memories that shaped my family, and fresh adventures that made each chapter unique. Moving wasn’t just about a change in location; it became part of my rhythm, part of who I was.
In today’s world, there’s a familiar pattern among thirty- and forty-somethings — the constant pursuit of the American dream of “upgrading.” Or, as the Jeffersons put it, “Movin’ on up.” We go bigger, shinier, and more luxurious — in our cars, our homes, and our lifestyles. We’re fully consumed by consumerism. I was guilty of it myself.
By the age of 32, I had found myself in the large home I had always wanted. It boasted soaring ceilings with wood beams, white walls, and custom everything. There were several acres, a manicured lawn with striped grass, and flower beds that needed constant care. The kids had it just as well — the tire swing, treehouse, trampoline, and zip line. We had animals, pastures to explore, trees to climb, and a garden filled with fresh fruits and veggies.
Was it the nicest out there? No. Was it enough? Honestly, it was too much.
The property had everything I thought I wanted — space, beauty, and that sense of “arriving.” But over time, I realized that all the “more” came with more to maintain, more to clean, more to pay for, and more to keep up with. Slowly, the dream began to feel heavy.
By early summer, I found myself standing in front of a “For Sale” sign planted in the front yard. It had been there long enough to accept an offer, and I was down to the last two weeks of packing before the move. I had always assumed the next step would be an even bigger home — maybe one with a pool, extra guest rooms, and a huge basement for entertaining. I could easily think of a million ways to add more to life.
But this time, I decided to do the opposite. I downsized — in an upsize world.
The new house was a modest farmhouse from 1920. It sat in an ideal location with a park-like yard and was about a thousand square feet smaller. The kitchen was tiny, the ceilings were low, and my bedroom was so small that I had to sell my brand-new king mattress. The boys shared a room. It wasn’t fancy, but it was full of charm and potential. In a culture where “more” often equals “success,” I made a very conscious choice to have less — so I could gain more of what really mattered.
Less truly became a blessing.
Less to maintain.
Less to clean.
Lower utility bills.
Less furniture to buy.
And less distance to travel for school, friends, errands, and doctors.
In all that “less,” I found something greater: peace.
My greatest hope in making this move was for my family to have more of each other — more quality time, more closeness, more adventure, and more joy. I wanted to focus less on things and more on moments.
Of course, I still had moments of doubt. When visiting friends in their beautiful new homes, I sometimes caught myself wondering, “Am I sure I did the right thing?” But every time that thought crept in, peace followed — and reminded me that yes, I had made the right decision.
By mid-July, I had fully settled into what I fondly called “The Farm.” I began updating the home within its original footprint to make it as functional as possible for a smaller space. It wasn’t about creating something grand; it was about creating something right.
Now, as I look back, I smile knowing I took the road less traveled — choosing simplicity and contentment over size and status. And it turned out to be the most rewarding move of all.
Megan Colyer
July 1, 2019 (updated 2025)
