Am I Weird For Not Wanting a Big House?

I love how my home makes me feel. When I’m in this space, I feel truly protected, as if the walls are providing a cozy shield from the outside world. Despite its compact layout, it even has room for a dedicated meditation space beneath a skylight. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that the couch in the living room is my favorite place on the planet—especially when my wife is sitting next to me.

But very few people seem to share my enthusiasm.   

I still remember the shock and disappointment on my mother’s face when she saw it for the first time. She couldn’t understand why I would want to live in a narrow semi-detached home that was built before the Second World War.

And for what we paid, we could’ve scooped up a larger house in the suburbs. Why settle on a smaller unit with a sliver of land in the back and only one bathroom? In the minds of most people (my mother included), bigger is often better.

She wasn’t alone. Even today, many people struggle to understand how we can be comfortable in such a small space without aspiring for more.

It even made me wonder: is it weird to not want a big house?

As a young adult, I dreamed of owning a mansion with multiple garages and a luxury car in each one. I imagined throwing lavish parties where guests would stoke my ego with praise as we danced the night away in my basement nightclub. This was the kind of home I thought I needed to feel successful and to be satisfied in life.

Then I grew up.

Homeownership turned out to be more of a struggle than I had anticipated, and so my brother and I pooled our resources to buy a condo. A few years later, we sold it, allowing each of us to buy a place of our own.

But my next home wasn’t much bigger. In fact, it had one less bathroom and no parking spot. My wife and I were very focused on location, and our smaller house was simply what we could afford in the neighborhood we wanted. I assumed we’d eventually move somewhere bigger. Over time, however, I realized that the house I had once regarded as a stepping stone was already giving us much of what we wanted from life.

Visiting friends and family with larger homes no longer left me envious. Instead, returning to my own house brought me a sense of relief. Here, I could unwind, feel safe, and enjoy the life my wife and I were building together. I didn’t always have this kind of environment.

Growing up in a fairly large house that offered more than enough room for my parents and brother, I was never truly at ease there. Maybe it was the lack of freedom I felt, or the shouting that echoed through the rooms as arguments erupted around me.  

Perhaps that’s why I value my current home so deeply, even though it’s nothing like the mansion I once dreamed of. I’ve come to realize that, for me, a home’s atmosphere has far more to do with the relationships within it rather than its size.

I want to have the energy to be present for the people who matter to me. But I’ve found that chasing more—more space, more possessions, more outward signs of success—can consume the time and energy I’d rather spend on the people and experiences that make my life worth living.

Of course, a larger home can offer privacy, flexibility, and room for a growing family. For some, it could genuinely improve the quality of their life. But I had to ask myself: would the extra space I originally wanted add anything meaningful to our lives? Beyond the satisfaction of owning something larger, would it make our marriage happier, give me more peace, or bring me closer to the things I care about?

I really don’t think so. Living modestly allows us to spend less and devote more time to what matters. For me, that shift began with gratitude, not just for what I had, but for the realization that I might already have enough. Instead of constantly pursuing more, I can focus on my marriage, my inner world, and the things that give my life meaning. The love and support within our home are worth far more to me than any amount of square footage.

So, am I weird for not wanting a big house?

There’s nothing wrong with wanting more space. But it’s also okay to discover that you don’t really need it. I used to think success meant owning a place that would show the world I’d made it. Now, it means something different: evenings spent relaxing with my wife, time to meditate, and the freedom to finish the novel I’ve been working on for years. This is what brings me peace and joy.

My house is merely a container to hold it.