A few years ago, if you’d told me I’d be perfectly happy living in a 400-square-foot studio with my boyfriend, I probably would’ve laughed. Like a lot of people our age, I grew up thinking that buying a house was the ultimate adult milestone the one that meant you’d “made it.” But somewhere between rising interest rates, endless Zillow scrolling, and the reality of saving for a down payment that felt impossible, we started asking a different question: what if we just didn’t buy?
That one decision changed everything.
When we first started talking seriously about our future, we thought we were supposed to buy. Everyone told us renting was “throwing money away.” But when we sat down and did the math mortgage payments, property taxes, maintenance, insurance, unexpected repairs it was clear that buying a house wasn’t freedom for us; it was a commitment we didn’t want yet.
Instead, we rented a small studio in the city. Then, after a year, we moved to an even smaller one near the beach. Now, our entire life fits in less than 500 square feet. And weirdly, it feels bigger than ever.
Minimalist living wasn’t something we planned. It just happened naturally. When space is limited, you start to see what you actually need and what you’ve been keeping out of habit. The clutter goes, and with it, the mental noise. Every item we own now has a purpose. Every corner feels intentional. We share a closet, cook simple meals, and our furniture doubles as storage. It’s not glamorous, but it’s peaceful.
Of course, there are trade-offs. We don’t have a backyard or a garage. Our friends with houses post photos of renovation projects and dogs running through grass, and sometimes it stings. But we’ve realized that our version of comfort looks different. We don’t have to spend weekends fixing things or worrying about the water heater. We can travel on a whim, move cities if we want, and live without the anxiety of a thirty-year loan hanging over our heads.
The best part? Our relationship got stronger. Living small means there’s no hiding from messes, moods, or each other. You learn to communicate fast, to give space when needed, and to appreciate the quiet routines that make life work. We’ve become better at compromise and better at seeing what matters: time together, not square footage.
We’ve also noticed how much money we’re saving, not just from skipping a mortgage but from not buying stuff. There’s simply no room for it. No impulse Amazon orders, no half-used kitchen gadgets, no wardrobe overflow. Our spending dropped, and so did our stress.
Some people think renting forever is a failure. But for us, it’s the opposite. It’s flexibility. It’s lightness. It’s knowing that our lifestyle fits who we are now not who we might be someday. Maybe we’ll buy one day. Maybe we won’t. For now, we like the simplicity of paying rent, packing light, and waking up in a space that feels ours without owning it.
Minimalist living isn’t about giving things up. It’s about gaining back what matters time, calm, connection, and freedom. And for us, that’s worth more than any house key.
