• I live about five minutes from my mom and have never really left.
• I dream about living far away in Australia or Mexico, but my anxiety prevents me from leaving.
• I'm raising my child differently. I hope she doesn't consider my feelings when choosing where to live.

Over breakfast, a friend told me she wished she'd slept around more before getting married. I passed the syrup and nodded, then surprised myself by saying, "I wish I'd moved around more."

I live in Denver, about five minutes away from my mom. And I've never really left.

I went to college an hour away. I traveled a little in my 20s, but never for long, and always with the knowledge that I'd return.

"Don't fall in love and move away" was my mother's one rule before any trip. And I followed that rule.

Never mind that my parents moved away from their small towns in Indiana in their 20s, or that my close friends from high school moved to London and Sydney. Their lives make me feel a complicated mix of envy and awe.

Of course, I've felt the call to move. One of my favorite activities on vacation is to look at homes nearby for sale on Zillow. Cannon Beach, Oregon; Sydney, Australia; Guanajuato, Mexico; even the Twin Cities — they're all places I've visited and thought, "I could live here."

But that's not my lot in life.

Responsibility was baked into my childhood

Clinically, it might be called "parentification" or "codependence," but I knew it as love.

My dad struggled with mental illness and holding a job. He was exciting but also known to bankrupt us with one manic trip to Williams and Sonoma.

My kid sister had chronic health issues. My mom worked for a nonprofit and, despite her best efforts, we struggled financially.

Being the oldest daughter, I was the one who took myself to school and kept things quiet at home when they needed to be. I sat beside my sister in hospital rooms and explained to teachers why my parents couldn't come to conferences.

Walking on eggshells and anticipating people's needs are what I know.

My parents might have seen my decision to stay as an act of love, but it was also driven by my own anxiety and the gnawing feeling that if I left, my family might fall apart.

I believed my presence would prevent disaster. That by staying nearby, I could keep the people I loved safe.

So I stayed.

Now, I'm a mom myself

My daughter is seven and she's already making plans to leave.

When she grows up, she wants to design a house to live in with her best friend and "lots of cats." She's considering Vail or maybe California.

Like my mother, I also (secretly) hope that my daughter will live near me forever. I even considered delaying her start in kindergarten just to get an extra year with her, but didn't go through with it.

When she grows up, I think I need to be nearby in case she needs me. There's that codependence again — but I catch myself.

More than anything, I hope my daughter grows up without my same anxiety and has the peace of mind to leave, if she wants.

I want her to trust that she's allowed to grow out of me and her dad. If she never once considers my feelings when choosing where to live, I'll have succeeded (and hate it).

I regret never moving away, but I have found the silver lining

I attend family dinners and get to watch my nephews grow up — not in jarring leaps between holidays, but in the slow unfolding of ordinary days.

I know what they look like when they're sleepy before bedtime or proud from playing a tough soccer game. My kid knows her grandparents, and someone is always around to lend a rake or give a hug.

I didn't move. I bought into the idea that love meant staying close. However, I hope my daughter knows that love knows no boundaries. It can mean building a full and joyful life from anywhere — and that I'll be just fine watching her go.

• Becky Martin and her partner moved to Taiwan in their 20s in search of adventure and to pay off student loans.
• A few years later, they returned home to Canada, only to realize they wanted to move to Taiwan permanently.
• In their 40s, their thinking again shifted, and they realized the draw of family was calling them back home.

Seeking adventure and needing to pay off student loans, I moved to Taiwan in my early 20s.

I was complaining about my debt when a friend mentioned that teaching English abroad could be a good way out. My job as a child and youth worker in Canada was not covering the bills. I convinced my then-boyfriend to join and we spent the next two and half years teaching kindergarten and elementary students in Taiwan

But after fiscal success, having achieved our goal, we decided to move back to Canada. Returning home in my mid-20s with an inflated ego after a few years of easy money, a comfortable life, and a level of respect as an English teacher proved to be a hindrance to my success in Canada.

We lost a lot of our savings in the time it took us to set up our lives again. We struggled to find jobs in Canada that paid enough to meet living expenses and ended up moving four times between cities. We found ourselves once again in a financial hole that was becoming deeper with every passing year.

Seeking security in Taiwan

So, 6 years later, after getting married, we returned to Taiwan in 2009, this time, our plan was to relocate permanently.

I spent most of my 30s, the next 7 and a half years, in Taiwan teaching English.

I loved the job, the lifestyle, having financial security, the opportunity to travel, designing my dream apartment, and eventually, adopting three cats.

However, even though we were building a good life in Taiwan, it didn't negate the fact that a significant part of our life was back in Canada, our family.

While living in Taiwan, my father-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack, and our world tilted. We went home to mourn with my husband's family but realized two weeks was an insignificant amount of time to process such a loss.

Just over a year later my nephew passed away on his school playground at recess. He was 8 years old and I had spent 7 years in Taiwan. I had met him only a few times in his short life.

Suddenly, the money, the pretty apartment, and the beautiful view no longer held us captive.

My husband and I starkly began to understand that the distance between us and our family meant that we could not really be a part of each other's lives. We could not be there to grieve, celebrate, or share.

Home was calling

We've now been back in Ontario, Canada for almost 8 years. I'm involved in my nieces and nephews' lives and I take time to travel with my sisters. My five brothers are no longer strangers to me. I've been able to visit my only living grandparent many times since I've been back — she's in her mid-90s. I see family almost every month now for holidays or sometimes just to get together.

At 46, after starting over in Canada again, changing careers, and dealing with the rising cost of living, I doubt that we'll ever be financially comfortable again. We'll probably never own a house, buy a new car, go on fancy vacations, or have a comfortable retirement.

But it's all worth it to watch my nieces and nephews grow into adults. I also have time for intimate conversations with my siblings during car rides or while hiking nearby.

I found grand adventures out there — lessons and insights that came when I stripped away everything familiar and influential. Growth happened when I pushed beyond my boundaries and realized the only limits were the ones I had created.

I also came to see the tremendous value in sometimes staying put.

• My daughter spent 45 minutes in the Target toy aisle comparing toys to maximize her $25 gift card.
• Gift cards can be a powerful tool for teaching kids financial literacy.
• She also saved an Amazon gift card balance to buy a bigger toy — a lesson in delayed gratification.

On a trip to Target last September, my 5-year-old sprawled out on the floor of the toy aisle, her birthday gift card dangling from one hand while she weighed her options. A Barbie in a sparkly dress to her left and an assortment of tiny Ily doll accessories to her right — shoes, purses, and the world's smallest laptop. "The Barbie's pretty," she said, "but I could dress up my doll a million different ways."

My child is not yet in kindergarten and was doing a cost-benefit analysis.

She made a great choice with the money she had

I'm the person who sees my checking account balance drop and thinks, "We should eat at home." Meanwhile, my daughter is turning into a miniature accountant when considering how to spend $25. Unlike my credit card — which she considers the magic card that buys anything — her gift card came with limits she understood.

That Target moment was just the beginning. After 45 minutes of comparing prices and possibilities (and lots of parenting patience), she chose the accessories. "This way," she said, "I can play with my doll different ways every day instead of just having one new doll."

Gift cards continue to teach my daughter lessons

Through gift cards, my daughter has learned financial lessons I'm still struggling to apply. After weeks of playing with her doll accessories, she told me, "I'm glad I got these instead of the Barbie. I can make up so many more stories this way." Sometimes, the practical choice really does beat the pretty one.

When the holidays rolled around, she received an Amazon gift card and, with it, a new lesson about money. She spotted a $40 unicorn-themed craft set on the site, and I braced for the inevitable meltdown. Instead, she looked at her $25 balance and said, "I'll wait for my next birthday money."

A week later, a late present arrived in the form of another gift card. She remembered the unicorn-themed set — something I can't even do with items on my own wish list.

The day her second gift card arrived, she ran straight to my laptop and said, "Now I can get the unicorn craft set!" The excitement in her voice made it clear — delayed gratification wasn't a burden, but part of the fun. She'd discovered that waiting makes something more special. A budget, to her, wasn't a restriction; it was a plan. She didn't see it as a list of things she couldn't buy, but as a way to get exactly what she wanted when she was ready.

I'm hoping her wisdom rubs off on me

I've gone through cycles of steadily saving money and then burning through my bank account more times than I care to admit. But when I was 9, I learned my own savings lesson at an arcade. Determined to win one of the massive stuffed animals perched on the skeeball machines, I hoarded tickets for a year instead of spending them on erasers and bouncy balls.

When I finally counted them at age 10, I still didn't have enough — but the arcade manager, impressed by my dedication, gave me the stuffed lion anyway. The lesson should have been about saving and planning. Instead, I mostly learned that stuffed lions don't fit in cars.

At 39, watching my daughter methodically plan her gift card purchases is reemphasizing those lessons.

Recently, we went back to Target; this time, she spent exactly three minutes picking what she wanted. "I already know how much everything costs," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how we spent $200 on "just a few things."

No, my daughter doesn't yet understand complex financial concepts like compound interest, but she understands that money isn't about how much she has; it's about how thoughtful she is when she spends it.

Maybe her wisdom will rub off before my impulse dollar section purchases.

• My eldest daughter had to learn to become self-sufficient at an early age.
• I have limited time for her because most of it is spent caring for my youngest.
• It's not the life I would have chosen, but my family is stronger for it.

My eldest daughter is self-sufficient at 10 years old. She gets herself breakfast and lunch, manages her own schedule, and finds ways to fill her time.

I never dread her school breaks on holidays and in the summer, I don't arrange entertainment for her, and she very seldom whines about being bored.

I just wish all this was by choice.

My 6-year-old has a debilitating disease

Instead, my eldest daughter's independence has come about because of my family's unusual circumstances. My six-year-old daughter has a rare progressive disorder called Rett Syndrome.

Her disease has stolen her words, hand use, independent mobility, and much of her swallow function. It has left her with a wheelchair, speech-generating device, feeding tube, and epilepsy.

With the help of my husband, I spend most of my time doing tasks like blending food, preparing medications, coordinating in-home helpers, fighting insurance denials, and driving to medical appointments.

Our workload intensifies whenever my youngest is not in school, her in-home helpers cancel their shifts, or she becomes ill. Because of her weakened immune system, she spends most of the winter sick. Meanwhile, my husband and I spend most of it caring for her.

Unfortunately, all this leaves little time for my eldest daughter.

My eldest's self-sufficiency is a silver lining

I struggle to do the most basic things with her, let alone, coordinate playdates, drive to after-school activities, or act as her entertainment director.

Instead, my eldest plays a vital role in our household. She relays messages, fetches supplies, helps with her sister's feeding tube, and operates our van's wheelchair ramp.

This might sound like my eldest has the short end of the stick. But her self-sufficiency has been one of the biggest silver linings of her sister's disease.

While my eldest daughter's peers are whisked from one activity to another, remain glued to tablets, or complain about being bored, she has the freedom to make what she wants of her time.

When she's not in school she's typically playing with neighborhood kids outside or, when the weather keeps her indoors, reading, designing art projects, or writing stories and poems.

The moments I spend with my eldest are precious and wonderful

I do spend time with my eldest daughter, of course, but not in the way I envisioned when I first became a mother.

Our moments together aren't as frequent as I would like and require a good bit of coordination.

However, because they are so few, they are also precious and highly enjoyable.

When my youngest is healthy and an in-home helper or my husband can care for her, my eldest and I plan activities together.

Sometimes she chooses a recipe and I give her a cooking lesson. Other times we spend a night in a hotel or have a "spa night" painting our nails and playing Mad Libs.

We look forward to these pockets of time when we laugh, talk, and share meals without stress or interruption.

This isn't the life I would have chosen but our family is stronger for it

Sometimes I worry that my eldest's limited extra-curricular activities will eventually make her a less competitive college applicant. She won't have an application filled with sports, language lessons, after-school activities, or service projects.

However, when I feel guilty, I remind myself that she will have many of the things one needs to succeed in life — self-reliance, independence, resilience, flexibility, and compassion.

Though this is not the life I would have chosen for my family, we are all stronger and wiser for it. My eldest daughter is a perfect example.

She doesn't fidget in the doctor's waiting room, even when she doesn't have a phone or a tablet. She doesn't walk by someone in a wheelchair without acknowledging them. She opens doors for others, stands up for her sister, and calmly accepts any last-minute changes to our plans.

I couldn't be prouder of the person she is becoming.

• I'd been teaching in the US for over 20 years but the culture had changed and I was miserable.
• I was working 12-hour work days plus on weekends and was burnt out and fed up.
• I sold everything, moved to Portugal, started my own business, and am living my best life.

Living in Lagos, Portugal, feels like a dream come true.

The slow pace of living, warmth of the locals, and affordability make my life feel balanced and serene.

Every day, I'm reminded of the little joys, such as walking the dog, strolling along the cobblestone streets, and shopping at the little farmer's market.

It's the kind of place where time seems to stretch, allowing for quiet moments of reflection and connection with nature.

This is what I would dream of on stressful, busy days as a teacher in the US. I thought it was just a fantasy that you only see in the movies, but three years later, I can honestly say that I have found my oasis.

I left the US in 2021 because I was fed up

I had taught high school English and Theatre in Arizona for over 20 years. I loved teaching but had become disheartened by the challenges within the public school system in recent years.

Communicating with parents became increasingly difficult, and I often felt treated more like their personal employee than a partner dedicated to helping their child succeed.

One parent threatened to sue me unless his child received the role in the play she wanted. Another parent removed her child from a final dress rehearsal to attend a church party.

This was vastly different from the early years of my career when parents willingly volunteered to help.

Every time there were budget cuts, it was the arts that would suffer, as well as my work-life balance. I was consistently asked to do more with less.

In addition to teaching classes eight hours a day, followed by three hours of rehearsal, I would go home and spend another two to three hours grading essays and planning for the next day.

Then, my weekends were spent building sets, sewing costumes, and running fundraisers to cover all the expenses.

I lived in a nice, middle-class area with manicured lawns and a pool in the back, but after Gabby Giffords and 20 other people were gunned down at a supermarket down the street, I never truly felt safe again.

Mass shooter drills had become the norm at school, and I often worried about how I could keep my students secure in an auditorium with glass doors that couldn't be locked from the inside due to fire codes.

As I would relax in my backyard at night, envisioning a life in Europe, the echoes of gunfire would frequently disrupt my peaceful thoughts. Arizona has open-carry laws, and it wasn't uncommon for people to shoot a gun into the air for no particular reason. It was just part of the landscape.

So, at 54, I decided it was time to take the leap, stop dreaming, and change the scenery. I sold everything I owned, changed careers, and moved to Europe, leaving everything behind except my sweet dog.

My expenses are much lower than in the US

I would sit on my patio in Arizona in the evening and dream of a place like this. Now, it's my home.

My expenses are about one-third of what I was paying in Arizona, which has dramatically improved my work-life balance.

I now set my own schedule and work only 30 hours a week. My income is lower, but so are my expenses, which allows me to enjoy more time on the beach.

My office now comes with the sound of rolling waves and soft breezes. I pay $850 a month — less than half of what my mortgage was in the US — for a cozy apartment with a sea view, and that includes cable and utilities.

In the past, my cable bill alone was over $150 each month, and electricity and water could total up to $400 during the hot summer months. Now, all of these expenses are covered by the rent.

My cellphone bill is $15.00 a month for unlimited talk and text.

I pay $150 a month for health insurance, with co-pays under $25, and my monthly prescription costs for the exact same medications have dropped from over $300 in the US to under $20 here.

Add on groceries and entertainment, and my total monthly budget comes out to about $2,500.

With my living expenses in check, I'm free from financial stress and able to focus on meaningful work.

I'm now a freelance writer and entrepreneur, building a rewarding business dedicated to teaching English to adults seeking to excel in global business environments.

When I'm not working, I enjoy taking my dog for beach walks and dining at local cafés.

A meal typically costs $15 to $20 and includes an appetizer, salad, entrée, and a glass of wine. It is finished with coffee and a pastel de nata, a custard tart the Portuguese are famous for.

I've also discovered a new-found love of Portuguese wine. Each region has its own special flavors, from rich Port wine up north to the refreshing green wine of the Douro River valley, and typically costs only $2 a glass.

The universal healthcare means I don't stress about enormous medical bills

Luckily, I haven't had a serious medical issue, but I've still greatly benefited from Portugal's healthcare system.

After 20 years of misdiagnosed thumb pain in the US, I finally found a doctor in Portugal who ordered an MRI and ultrasound, correctly diagnosing it as a Glomus tumor.

A 30-minute outpatient surgery relieved the pain, and the entire process — consultations, tests, and surgery — cost me under $600 with insurance.

My life in Portugal has come with some challenges

The laid-back lifestyle here means that sometimes things move a bit slower — like the year-long wait for my Portuguese driver's license to arrive or the additional six months it took to renew my residency card.

Learning the language has also been challenging, though many locals speak English, which makes things much easier. However, taking Portuguese classes has also given me greater empathy for my business English clients and ultimately made me a better teacher.

Navigating traffic circles was a bit daunting at first, but now I prefer it to sitting at stoplights. It reduces congestion and idling, which saves me money on fuel.

Despite these little bumps, the positives overwhelmingly outweigh the negatives.

Looking back on my journey, I am incredibly thankful for my decision to take this leap of faith and move years ago.

In Portugal, I feel safe and welcomed and I'm free from financial concerns. This environment allows me to truly live my best life, appreciate the little things, and find joy every day.

• I grew up in the US but moved to Italy in my 20s. I now split my time between the two.
• There are pros and cons to living in Italy. I don't love the slower pace of life.
• I'm also a homebody and haven't adjusted to Italians' overly extroverted lives.

I moved to Italy in my 20s after a summer study abroad in Rome during my senior year of college.

What I thought would be a few months of living "la dolce vita" in the historic city turned into much more after I met my now-husband and my internship turned into a full-time job.

Seven years later, I split my time between my first home, the United States, and my second, Italy.

Despite calling the US my real home, living overseas has changed my mindset, and I experience culture shock every time I transition between countries.

The most shocking cultural differences are the little things in daily life

A big part of the "la dolce vita" concept is that life moves slower. Who doesn't love the idea of unlimited coffee breaks, shorter working hours, and August spent beachside?

In reality, it's not so pleasant at times.

I'm lucky if I can finish a task in a day. Italy isn't as "online" as the US, so you're better off going to a place in person rather than trying to call or email.

For example, when I was trying to sign up for the national healthcare system, I went to the address listed on Google Maps, only to find an unmarked building with a locked door.

I waited for someone to come out so I could sneak in, and thankfully, I was able to find the registration office. However, contrary to Google Maps, it was only open from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. three days a week, so I was out of luck and had to return another day.

Even after living in Italy for many years, it's still difficult for me to settle into this slower pace, especially in the weeks after returning from the US.

Daily life back in America is much more comfortable and requires much less energy. I'll take the DMV over an Italian post office any day.

What's socially acceptable in each country is difficult to adjust to

Despite being a city of more than 2.5 million people, Rome feels like a cluster of small villages. Locals tend to live, work, eat, and shop in their neighborhoods, and everyone knows everyone.

The close-knit community made it hard for me, as an outsider, to fit in at first. This was even more difficult because I wasn't used to Italian socialization, where asking personal questions and openly staring at others isn't seen as rude as it is in the US.

So, in the beginning, people would probe me, asking things like how my family accepted me living so far from home.

I remember calling my mom one day crying after walking through the neighborhood and feeling like all eyes were on me.

However, I've gotten more comfortable in Italy over the years, especially after I became fluent in Italian, which significantly boosted my self-confidence.

Italian culture has also changed my perspective on what's socially acceptable in the US. If Italian society is overbearing, American society can feel a bit isolating.

Back in the US, I sometimes find myself accidentally overstaying my welcome or oversharing. I've also come to find it odd how easy it is to break a social bond. It only takes one wrong move to be ghosted, even by a friend.

This starkly contrasts the "village" mentality in Italy, where most relationships are long-lasting. Friends can yell at each other in the street one second and then make up and go for gelato the next.

It's hard to get used to the different spaces we live in — in Italy and the US

One thing I have never adjusted to after all these years is how little time Italians spend in their homes.

The traditional Italian home, which is pretty tiny, isn't designed for people to spend a lot of time there. As a result, people spend most of their free time socializing outdoors.

In the mornings, everyone has coffee at the bar. At lunch, colleagues go out. After work, most have an aperitivo at their favorite watering hole.

Since food and wine are relatively inexpensive, dinner is also often eaten out. By the time that wraps up, it's time for bed.

By contrast, I grew up a homebody in the US and am still a homebody, which makes me the oddball out when I'm in Italy.

Seeing the way Italians live, though, has left me in awe of the typical American home, decorated to personal taste with private green space.

As I drive home from the airport in Missouri, seeing how much wide open green space there is never gets old.

Italy can be challenging, and I know I'll never stop being surprised by the cultural quirks, but I feel fortunate to have the best of both in my life.