Who Actually Designed Your Everyday Life?

You Can Renovate Your Kitchen. But What Are You Going to Do About Your Tuesday?

By Regine Rauin | When Rooms Tell Stories

 

A question we surprisingly rarely ask, even though it is exactly what we do every single day.

We ask:

Where should I live?

How big does the flat need to be?

How much does the house cost?

City or countryside?

Sea or mountains?

Buy or rent?

But the question that really ought to come first is:

How Do You Actually Want to Live?

Not someday.

Not when the children have left home.

Not when you retire.

Not when you finally have enough money.

Now.

Because you are already living a life.

The only question is:

Did you consciously choose it?

 

Perhaps that is exactly the problem with our homes.

We choose spaces according to criteria that are easy to measure.

Square metres.

Rooms.

Location.

Price.

Garden.

Garage.

Cellar.

Balcony.

And then we wonder why we sometimes feel less at home in 140 square metres than we do in 45.

Because a floor plan doesn’t tell you how your life will feel inside it.

A large house can accommodate loneliness beautifully.

A small flat can be full of life.

A beautiful garden can become a prison.

A kitchen can be the heart of a family.

Or a place where everyone sits opposite each other every evening, staring at their phones.

So the question isn’t only:

“How much space do I need?”

But:

“What do I need in the life that is going to happen inside this space?”

 

 

Closeness or Distance?

Perhaps you need people.

But not all the time.

Perhaps you want to be able to meet someone spontaneously without first arranging a calendar consultation involving three people.

And at the same time, you want to be able to go home whenever you like and close the door.

That isn’t a contradiction.

It’s a need.

Perhaps you need exactly this combination:

Closeness without being swallowed up.

 

Peace and Quiet or Movement?

Perhaps you want to look out of the window in the morning and hear nothing.

And in the afternoon, you want to be right in the middle of things.

Perhaps you want nature on your doorstep and a café five minutes away.

Perhaps you want to walk the dog through the woods in the morning and go to a concert in the evening.

Perhaps you need peace and quiet as your foundation and movement as your nourishment.

Or exactly the other way round.

There is no right answer here.

There is only:

What works for you?

 

Community or Retreat?

This is one of my favourite questions.

Because we often treat community as though it has to mean:

Everyone together. All the time.

But perhaps you need something completely different.

People nearby.

But doors.

Retreat.

But not loneliness.

Shared meals.

But also a room where nobody turns up uninvited.

Perhaps the ideal home therefore isn’t one where every room is shared.

Perhaps it’s one where it is clear:

This is where we are.

and:

This is where I am.

Both are allowed to exist.

 

Spontaneity or Predictability?

Some people love it when someone suddenly turns up at the door.

Others develop mild heart palpitations at the very thought of it.

Both are fine.

But it becomes a problem when your home constantly forces you into a way of living you don’t actually want.

When having people over is always complicated.

When retreat is impossible.

When you have to prepare half the house for every encounter.

Or when you’d actually like to have people around, but your home works in such a way that every encounter becomes a logistical major event.

Then perhaps your personality isn’t difficult after all.

Perhaps your surroundings simply don’t fit your needs.

 

Security or Adventure?

Perhaps you want a fixed place.

A place where you know where everything is.

Perhaps you want roots.

And at the same time, sometimes you simply want to leave.

Perhaps your perfect life therefore isn’t “settled” or “nomadic”.

Perhaps it is:

settled with exits.

A home you genuinely like coming back to.

And a life that still keeps pulling you out into the world.

 

And now it gets interesting.

Because when you put all these things next to each other, something suddenly emerges that is far more valuable than a list of housing preferences.

You begin to see your life design.

Perhaps it looks something like this:

I want peace in the morning.

I want nature.

I want to be able to work with concentration during the day.

I don’t want people around me all the time.

But I want to be able to meet people whenever I want.

I want to go out for dinner spontaneously.

I want a dog.

I want to paint.

I want to travel.

I want to love someone without being fused to them 24 hours a day.

That isn’t a property listing.

That is a life.

 

And now you can put your home next to it.

Not to judge it.

But to see:

What can it already do?

What could it do with a few changes?

What could it never do?

That last one is particularly important.

Because some things cannot be renovated.

A house can be beautiful.

But if you have to drive for 45 minutes every morning to reach the life you actually want to live, that drive is part of your life.

A flat can be perfect for retreat.

But if every spontaneous encounter means travelling for an hour, that is also a condition of your life.

A house can have a beautiful garden.

But if what you actually want is to sit by the water every evening, the garden is still just a garden.

 

That doesn’t mean we have to move straight away.

Quite the opposite.

Perhaps the insight is much smaller.

Perhaps you’re simply missing:

a room of your own.

A door.

A bigger table.

A workspace that can disappear in the evening.

A place outside.

A place for friends.

A place for you.

Perhaps you’re missing a regular outing.

A second place.

A club.

A hobby.

A new neighbourhood.

Or simply permission to stop living your life the way you planned it ten years ago.

 

And sometimes this question really does lead to moving house.

Then that’s fine too.

But then you aren’t simply moving away.

You are moving towards something.

That is a big difference.

You aren’t saying:

“I want to get away from here.”

You are saying:

“I want to go there because I can live my life better there.”

That changes the entire decision.

 

Perhaps your home isn’t actually too small.

Perhaps your life has become too big.

Or the other way round.

Perhaps you built a huge house and now realise that you actually want to own far less.

Perhaps you have a small flat and dream of a workshop.

Perhaps you went looking for peace and quiet and now realise that what you’re missing is people.

Perhaps you went looking for community and now desperately need a room where nobody wants anything from you.

Life doesn’t stand still.

Why should your home?

 

That’s why I find this question much more interesting than “Where do I want to live?”

“What do I want to experience?”

How often do I want to meet people?

How often do I want to be alone?

How much time do I want to spend outside?

How much time do I want to spend being creative?

How much do I want to work?

How much do I want to travel?

How spontaneous do I want to be?

How much security do I need?

How much adventure can I handle?

And which people do I want around me?

If you answer these questions honestly, finding the right home suddenly becomes much easier.

Because then you’re no longer looking for a house.

 

You’re looking for the conditions for your life.

About the Author

I'm Regine Rauin, also known as Mystic Maveress.

I read rooms the way other people read tarot cards.

And every now and then...

...I write a book.

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🗝️ Because many of the answers are already living with you.