• I finished my postdoctoral training in New York City, where I worked with families and kids.
• After moving to Wichita, I saw just how thriving families can look so different in different places.
• A healthy dynamic doesn’t look the same for every family, and I’ve taken this lesson into my work.

The drive-thru line at Chick-fil-A stretched around the block, packed with oversized SUVs at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. Engines idled.

No one honked. No one seemed in a hurry. It was one of my first glimpses of life in Wichita, and it felt like a different world.

I had just finished my postdoctoral training in New York City, where I had worked with children and families in a wide range of settings. I was confident I understood family systems. I had the degrees, the supervised clinical hours, and the professional language to explain how families function under pressure.

Then I had my first son, and my husband’s job brought us to Wichita.

Here, I found a dramatically different rhythm

Geography dictates many things, from food to recreational activities.

Despite a plethora of farms, fresh produce felt scarce in many areas. Flat vistas, no ocean in sight, and real tornado threats. Yes, Dorothy, I was really in Kansas.

Community looked different in this Midwestern city, too. Sunday mornings were quiet: no lawn mowers, no delivery trucks — not because nothing was “happening,” but because people were at church, had personal commitments, and reason to pause in a way I had never seen on the East Coast.

In New York City, Sunday mornings meant brunch reservations and open inboxes ahead of the workweek.

What struck me most was the way people spoke, and the naturally unrushed pace of speech. There was no impulse to fill the silence. No one really said, “We should get lunch sometime,” with no intention of doing it.

If someone said they would call you, they called you. If they said they would show up, they showed up.

On the East and West Coasts, where I had lived as a child, I had grown fluent in a kind of conversational currency where words were placeholders for intentions that may or may not exist.

In Wichita, people meant what they said and said what they meant. I remember thinking, quietly and repeatedly, that this was a beautiful thing.

Professionally, Wichita taught me a lot

As a clinician trained to assess family systems, I did not experience my new life as merely observation. I experienced it as data.

I had spent years learning to recognize healthy functioning against a fairly narrow, unspoken standard, one shaped almost entirely by the fast, achievement-oriented environment I trained in.

Watching an entirely different rhythm operate successfully, with its own coherence, its own values, its own quiet integrity, was not something my training had prepared me to see up close.

The lesson was not that one rhythm is correct and the other is not. The lesson was that families do not follow a single template for pace, values, or connection.

A family can be thriving while looking almost nothing like the families I had been trained to recognize as thriving.

It is easy, especially coming out of a field trained heavily in one regional context, to mistake familiarity for health. A fast-paced, achievement-oriented family is not inherently dysfunctional. Neither is a slower, more relationship-centered one, built around Costco runs and Sunday mornings and saying exactly what you mean.

What matters clinically is whether a family’s own rhythm is actually working for them, not whether it resembles the one I happened to experience myself growing up and in my training.

These lessons stayed with me long after I left Kansas

Today, I’m based in Pennsylvania, though my work takes me into homes across the country.

Every family brings its own history, community, geography, values, and way of moving through the world. Those influences don’t exist outside the family system. They are woven into it.

Now, whenever I conduct an intake for a clinical evaluation or a school-admissions strategy session, one of the first questions I ask parents is, “Where are you from?” I want to know not only where they live now, but also about the roots that shaped them long before their child was born.

My training taught me how to recognize patterns. Wichita taught me to ask where those patterns came from before deciding whether they needed to change.

Every place we live leaves its imprint on a family. The communities we call or have called home shape our expectations, beliefs, and even the way we communicate with each other.

Understanding a family means understanding and accepting those roots, not as a point of comparison, but as a foundation to a healthy dynamic.

• We skipped the expensive play-place birthday party and hosted our son’s fifth birthday at home instead.
• We let him invite everyone he wanted, and nearly 100 people RSVP’d.
• Rain turned our unfinished backyard into a giant mud pit, but we leaned into the chaos.

“Hey, great party!” a parent laughed while wiping mud off their daughter’s happy face. My own grin stretched wide as I thanked them for coming and made my way upstairs, dodging kids in animal costumes sprinting down.

I made my way to the platform and poked my head into each room until I found my son, the birthday boy. He jumped on our bed in a pillow fight with his friends dressed in a Spider-Man costume, his laughter roaring throughout the whole upper level of our modestly sized home. “You good, bud?” I shouted with a thumbs up. “Mama!!” he shouted back. “I’m having the BEST DAY EVER!!”

We questioned the expensive birthday party formula

We had previously conformed to the birthday party routines we kept witnessing all around us — trampoline parks, gymnastics studios, indoor playrooms. We’d sign up for their conveyor-belt-like process of planning a birthday party. You’re limited to give-or-take 15 kids total. You get one hour of play, then one hour for pizza, drinks, dessert, and gifts. You get a coupon to come back another time. And then they cycle you out for the next party. All for hundreds of dollars.

We started to rethink our son’s birthday party when it came time to choose which kids made “the cut” for the invite. How do you teach a 5-year-old to rank their friends with a hierarchy of importance?

“What if we just had the party here?” I asked my husband one night, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. We knew the risk of a house party in early March in St. Louis. If the weather were great, it would be easy. But if the weather did not work out in our favor, our home was not ideal. We have a two-story, three-bedroom home, but our rooms are by no means large.

We sawed back and forth for a while until I reminded my husband of the motto that has carried us through our crazier ideas, like living in a van or moving completely off-grid in a state we barely knew years prior: “We’ll figure it out.”

We leaned into the mess instead of fighting it

We told our son he could invite any friends he wanted to his party. What we didn’t realize is that he translated that to mean he could invite EVERY friend to his party. We were staring at 70, 80, 90+ RSVPs, and the count kept growing each day.

Not only that, but the weather was calling for rain. We had an unfinished strip of our backyard that we were turning into a play area, but it wouldn’t be ready in time for the party. So we had a large strip of dirt that became a massive mud pit. “I don’t think we can pull this off.” My husband stressed to me. “I think we’re going to have to schedule an indoor venue at the last minute. I don’t see how we can make this work.”

After living remotely off-grid and moving to a walkable city, I was leaning into intentional community. I wanted to prove we could host a large party in our home, even if it was a little chaotic. We updated the invite and sent all of our RSVPs a message. “Mud is on the forecast! Bring rainboots, a towel, a change of clothes, and a flexible attitude!”

We threw every pillow, cushion, and blanket we could find into our bedroom. We made one room an art room with construction paper, magazines, glue sticks, markers, and more. We set up stations in the playroom and highlighted a rack filled with hanging costumes.

The party became a celebration of community

The party was in full swing. A mountain of shoes sat by our front door. My husband carried old yoga mats up from the basement to form a walkway from the back door to our bathroom. Kids dug in the mud pit with hoes and shovels while adults hosed them off before they went inside. People in the gated off living room played with the younger kids while talking about concerts. Parents leaned against our counters in the kitchen, conversing about the best camping spots. Upstairs, one parent was assisting with putting on and removing costumes while a group of parents stood on our landing, popping their heads into each room to see if anyone needed anything.

I admired how everyone had stepped up to keep the kids safe, our home tidy, and the laughter flowing.

It was time for cake. I squeezed my way through each room of the house, my hands cupping around my mouth, hollering “CAKE IN 5 MINUTES!!” Kids squealed and took the cue to wrap up their activity and head to the front room. I looked around while my husband placed candles on the cake and nearly started to cry. The bodies filled our room, shoulder to shoulder, on the floor, up the stairs, around the table. Everyone seemed relaxed, smiling, and present. My son looked around and jumped up and down, his smile devouring the rest of his face.

We didn’t need to throw money toward a franchise to give our son the best day. We didn’t need an epic house or perfect weather. We just needed open communication, good attitudes, and a bit of letting go of typical expectations.

• In his waning years as Berkshire Hathaway’s CEO, Warren Buffett was hoarding cash.
• The company had close to $400 billion on hand before Buffett retired earlier this year.
• Now, the new CEO, Greg Abel, is starting to spend it.

Berkshire Hathaway’s exceptionally deep pockets are getting shallower under its new CEO, Greg Abel.

In its latest earnings report on Saturday, the company said it ended June with $365.5 billion in cash and Treasury bills, a noticeable dip from the $397.4 billion recorded at the end of March.

The company’s net income, meanwhile, reached $25.6 billion, more than double the $12.3 billion recorded the same time last year.

The company said the cash went toward repurchasing its own shares and buying stocks. The last time Berkshire Hathaway bought more stocks than it sold was in 2022. The Coca-Cola Company, American Express, Bank of America, Alphabet, and Apple are among its largest holdings.

The firm also completed its acquisition of Taylor Morrison Home Corporation on July 24, but did not provide a valuation in the report.

Berkshire Hathaway’s decision to dip into its massive cash pile marks a new chapter for the firm, which had been hoarding cash in the years leading up to former CEO Warren Buffett’s retirement last December.

Abel officially took the helm in January. In a February letter to shareholders, Abel said Berkshire Hathaway uses shareholders’ capital on opportunities where the reward matches the risk.

“When we expand existing operations, acquire new operating businesses, invest in equity securities, and repurchase Berkshire stock, we evaluate each opportunity based on its potential to grow Berkshire’s intrinsic value per share over a time horizon measured in perpetuity,” he said.

Abel said Berkshire Hathaway is proud of its “nimble culture,” which lets it consider and make thoughtful investments.

“Many times in Berkshire’s history, some observers have suggested that our substantial cash position signals a retreat from investing. It does not. We continue to evaluate many opportunities and will remain patient and disciplined in pursuing the right ones for the benefit of our owners,” Abel wrote.

• Teaching a kid to ride a bike is hard, especially when that kid is your own.
• After some failed lessons, I outsourced this important parenting rite of passage.
• I spent a bunch of money on bike lessons, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I’m going to admit something here that’s probably going to get a lot of parents up in arms: I paid a guy $300 to teach my two kids to ride a bike.

I know that $150 for a bike lesson is exorbitant, and it was one of the reasons I hesitated to do it (or talk about it publicly). But when I reframed it in my mind as an extremely finite cost for a job I could not do myself, for what will hopefully be a lifetime of family bike rides — I decided I could live with it.

And I have zero regrets.

We tried to teach our kids ourselves and totally failed

My kids are 6 and 8. We live in a New York City apartment, so I can’t just send them outside to futz around on their bicycles and figure it out on their own. My husband and I have schlepped the bikes to a local blacktop a handful of times over the past few summers, and very quickly turned into two very sweaty, grumpy adults with two very sweaty, grumpy kids — kids who still needed training wheels.

Before you ask, yes: we tried the balance bike. We tried training wheels, and one training wheel slightly lifted, and also a bike trainer handle that was supposed to let us run gracefully behind the bike rather than lurching alongside the tiny rider while holding his waist.

None of it clicked. Our vision of helmeted children riding proudly into the sunset after a few spins together was fading with each failed session. It was clear we needed a different approach.

Sometimes, as a parent, you have to know your limits

So I went back to my text messages to dig up the name of the local “bike whisperer,” a 20-something BMXer and bicycle mechanic whom parents turn to when it’s time to suck up their pride and outsource this sacred parenting rite of passage.

It worked like a charm. Our instructor showed up at the local school basketball court with his BMX bike and a bag of chalk. He impressed my kids with a few bike tricks and charmed them by writing their names in chalk—calligraphy for my daughter and Minecraft-style block letters for my son. Then he employed a series of steps that involved removing their pedals, getting them to find their balance, and holding up their bikes by the handlebars while they pedaled furiously into the air.

By the end of their 45-minute lessons, each one was comfortably riding loops around the blacktop and grinning like they had conquered Mt. Everest.

Our bike instructor took the emotional weight out of the situation

This method did not involve running alongside the kids while holding their waists and promising loudly to “not let go!!”

More critically, it took the emotional weight out of the situation. My kids had been airing their frustration on my husband and me, and we on them. But this new teacher was cool and impartial, and brought a new perspective to the challenge.

Plus, learning to ride a bike is hard. Just knowing how to ride does not necessarily equip a parent to teach it to a tiny, easily frustrated human being. Once I acknowledged this and got out of their way, my kids were primed to learn from a pro.

I’m a full-time working parent, and it’s important to me to be involved in my kids’ development and education. There are lots of things I care deeply about teaching my kids myself. For some parents, that absolutely involves teaching their kid to ride a two-wheeler. In fact, some of them might even die on that hill.

For me, the bike lesson was a good reminder that even the most involved parents have their limits, and sometimes it’s better to outsource to an expert.

• We moved our 350-square-foot tiny home from our secluded community in California to Bend, Oregon.
• After packing up our house, we hired someone to drive it to the new piece of land we rented.
• Nothing broke, and we’re enjoying Bend but are excited to move our home again when we’re ready.

My partner and I had always dreamed of having our own small space on wheels so we could live simply and have a flexible lifestyle.

So, in 2019, we began building our very own tiny home on a 32-foot trailer. After many months (and YouTube tutorials), it was complete.

For a while, we lived in it while parked on his parents’ property in New Jersey. By 2021, we’d decided to move our 350-square-foot build across the country to California, where we’d found a great tiny-home community in a national forest about an hour outside San Diego.

Although I’d been nervous about moving our home for the first time, it worked out — and our new community was wonderful. We loved taking advantage of our easy access to beautiful trails and mountain views and befriended our neighbors, too.

However, after years of secluded mountain living, we wanted a change of scenery and to be closer to a grocery store — the nearest one was more than 20 miles away, about a 35-minute drive.

We also wanted to be near more activities and be able to casually take pottery classes nearby or join a local soccer league.

So, we set our sights on Bend, Oregon. We had friends in the area and loved the idea of living in the Pacific Northwest, in a city with better access to what we wanted.

We spent a few months preparing for the move

After researching reliable moving companies, we estimated it would cost at least $3,000 to relocate our house. So, for months leading up to our move, we put as much money as possible into our savings account.

We also began looking for land in Bend that we could rent to place our house on. Eventually, we found a spot online by connecting with homeowners in the area who were interested in hosting us.

With land in place, we hired someone to drive our home to Oregon while my partner and I drove down separately with our dog.

Next, we needed to pack. On the bright side, no moving truck is needed when you’re moving your actual home. Instead, we filled our house.

We packed everything from our shelves and cabinets into boxes, using clothes to wrap plates, pans, and other breakables. Then those boxes were stacked and packed tightly in our living room.

To be extra cautious, we also secured our fridge and washer/dryer to the walls with bungee cords.

Moving day wasn’t perfect, but it went smoothly enough

On the day of the move, we dealt with minor car troubles and our first driver canceling, though another was sent in their place.

By then, we’d already decided to start our long drive, with our dog in tow.

Luckily, our friends in the community were able to meet the new driver and facilitate the move. The biggest relief came when they sent us videos of our house being hooked up and safely towed away.

Although the beginning of the moving day didn’t go as smoothly as intended, the rest of it did.

Sixteen hours of driving later, we met the driver and our house at the new property.

Once we arrived, we weren’t done. We leveled the trailer and added bottle jacks to help stabilize and support its weight. Next, we connected our plumbing and electricity.

Then we began the unpacking process. We started with our outdoor furniture, turf, and bikes — all of which we’d transported in the house.

Somehow, none of our belongings or furniture broke.

Although we won’t stay here forever, it’s great for now

The first few nights at a new spot are always my favorite. There’s nothing like looking up at the stars in a new view, but through the same familiar window.

When we first got to Oregon, we even saw the northern lights. New experiences like that are what make all the move preparation, anxiety, and change worth it.

So far, our new spot has been great, and the people we rent it from are incredible. It’s been convenient living just 10 minutes from a grocery store and 15 minutes from the center of town.

We have our own yard and a larger area for our dog to play — and we even ended up rescuing another pup. We’ve also built a small shed to use as an office, art studio, and gaming area.

We’re enjoying living here for now, but we would move our home again when we’re ready for a change. With a house on wheels, it’s nice to always have the option.

• Kati Gyselinck reflected on her 27 years as a stay-at-home mom and wanted a change.
• At 62, she moved solo to the Greek mainland with one suitcase, leaving everything else behind.
• She said that downsizing and being grateful for the smaller things in life have made her happier.

This story is based on an interview with Kati Gyselinck, 65, a life coach who lives in Athens, Greece. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I arrived at Athens International Airport in October 2023 with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes.

Then I took a taxi to the Airbnb, which was supposed to be my home while I began my new life abroad. My first impressions weren’t great. The place seemed dark, and there was no balcony.

A few nights later, I got up to use the bathroom and kicked my big toe against the bed. The whole nail came off, and the pain was bad.

I wondered if I’d made a mistake

There was no way I could find a pharmacy at that time. Nor did I have anyone to call. It brought home to me the leap of faith I’d taken to move to another country.

“Did I make a mistake?” I thought. I felt sorry for myself because I was alone. I cried my eyes out for hours.

My departure from my house in Israel, which coincided with a divorce, wasn’t something I’d meticulously planned.

Nevertheless, I needed a new direction. My three kids were adults, leading their own lives. I’d been a homemaker for 27 years. It had reached the point where it was pretty much, “Hi Mom, Bye Mom,” as they rushed in and out of the door.

I was dedicated to being a wife and mother

Yes, raising beautiful children was an accomplishment. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking that I hadn’t gotten much to show for myself.

I’d been dedicated to the role of wife and mother since leaving my job as a mortgage consultant when my son was born.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t enjoy being with the kids. I’d waited until 34 to have my first baby, feeling so much love, and didn’t mind staying at home without a nanny.

My husband was a successful businessman, and our finances were secure. Despite that, I found it hard to no longer have my own stream of income.

The years went by, and I hit 62. Things had been building up for a while. I had a heavy feeling in my chest because I wasn’t where I wanted to be. I had material things like a big car, but I was convinced I could be happier with a lot less.

I thought about staying for a few more years, until my youngest was in her mid-20s, but by then I’d be 67 or 68. Almost on the spur of the moment, I opted for a fresh start in Athens.

I walked 6 miles a day

I’ve loved Greece ever since I went on a cruise off the coast. The people are very friendly. And it’s an easy flight from Tel Aviv. My kids can visit me within a day of travel.

Still, it took me almost a year to find my feet. The night when I hurt my toe wasn’t the only time I wondered if I’d done the right thing.

One of the issues was not finding an Airbnb that I was comfortable in. I didn’t like living with other people’s furnishings, when I was used to choosing my own.

Rather than stay home, I’d walk for hours, exploring the neighborhoods. I clocked five or six miles a day on my Apple Watch.

I deliberately chose a big city because, as a single woman, it seemed it would be easier to make friends. Slowly, but surely, I found people I wanted to hang out with, including a couple I met in a café.

One of the guys lived in the Athens Riviera, about 25 miles south. He knew I wasn’t 100% OK in the city, and suggested I check out some properties near him.

In December, 2024, I rented a 1,300 square foot, three-bedroom apartment, a few minutes’ walk from the shore. It wasn’t furnished, and I transformed it to my taste. I bought a compact Fiat 500.

Food is fresh here

Downsizing did me good, as I’d suspected. I had never been one to chase designer bags or anything like that, but I developed an appreciation of the simpler things.

I swam in the ocean every morning, then sat on my balcony surrounded by lemon trees, drinking an espresso. Those moments were precious to me.

One of my favorite activities is checking out the farmers market around the corner. Food is fresh here and reasonably priced. A little over two pounds of tomatoes costs less than $2.

I’ve met people through people and joined a few Facebook groups. We’ll get together for drinks or a meal, and once, ravioli-making.

Last month, I hired a tutor to teach me Greek. It’s complicated because there are 10 different words for everything. I told her that I wanted to at least follow the conversation with my Greek friends.

I recently launched my life coaching business for over-55s after writing about my journey on Instagram. Women message me, asking how I did what I did.

Expand your horizons

They include divorcees, widows, or stay-at-home moms who crave some personal space. Many are afraid to travel solo or even to eat dinner alone in a restaurant.

You don’t have to make a big change. I’m not telling my clients or my followers to blow up their marriages, pack their belongings, and move to Greece.

I encourage them to expand their horizons. You might take baby steps with a weekend away on your own. It’s good to experiment. If you don’t like it, you can always come home.

Older women can cultivate and cherish themselves in whatever way they choose.