As a child, I envisioned owning a chic city apartment by my mid-20s, inspired by TV icons like Hilary Banks from “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” and Bridget Jones. They managed it with creative jobs, so I assumed I would too. But now, approaching 25, that dream feels more distant than ever, almost like a mirage. Instead of struggling within a system that seems rigged against me, I’ve decided to let go of the dream of home ownership, and surprisingly, I feel okay about it.
Saving for years no longer guarantees a set of keys to your own home. Some of my friends, especially those in couples, are caught up in the frenzy of buying houses. A few have even received homes purchased by their parents. But for someone like me—single, self-employed, living in London, and without family financial support—the odds are overwhelmingly against me. I feel a sense of relief knowing I can’t compete, even if I wanted to.
Last year, the housing charity Shelter reported that first-time buyers need a household income of £64,000 and a £46,000 deposit to buy an average home. For most, this is laughably impossible, and it’s even worse in London. Without family help, the average UK buying age of 37 rises to 43, according to the National Housing Federation. If you save 5% of a typical monthly London wage (£28,000 a year), you could afford a £289,000 property after 21 years.
So, I’ve chosen to rent. Renting offers a level of freedom I wouldn’t have if I were living paycheck to paycheck to repay massive loans. Being self-employed, frequently traveling for work, and undergoing social, economic, and romantic changes, renting feels liberating. I’m not tied to a long-term contract, my landlord allows redecorating, pets, and subletting, and I pay below the average for a double room in a Zone 2 house. I love knowing I can move at a moment’s notice without stress or expense, and it’s someone else’s problem if the boiler breaks down.
Of course, I’m aware of the lack of security in renting, but I’m unwilling to sacrifice my 20s to corporate life, force myself into an unhappy relationship, or give up my social life just to get a 95% mortgage. I don’t want to spend half a century paying for a house I had to settle for in an area I don’t like because it was all I could afford. After losing my father to cancer a few years ago, I’m acutely aware that nothing in life is secure.
I remember vividly accompanying my dad to the bank two years ago to make his final mortgage payment. His determination provided my family with some security, and I save regularly on his advice. But I won’t sacrifice my life today in the hope of owning bricks and mortar in 40 years. Who knows how long any of us will have to enjoy it anyway?
