Moving to Europe for more... space?

Why moving from a house in the U.S. to a small Portuguese apartment hasn't felt like downsizing after all.

Photo by Liam McKay on Unsplash

One of the biggest trade-offs I was warned about before moving to Europe was that I’d have to settle for far less living space. “Yeah, the universal healthcare is great,” they’d say, “but you’ll have to squeeze yourself in a tiny apartment, packed in like a sardine. You’ll need a smaller bed. Fewer things. And, when you sneeze, you may hear your neighbor say, ‘bless you.’”

I’ve lived in Lisbon, Portugal for over three months now, and while those warnings have proven to be a bit hyperbolic, they weren’t entirely wrong.

My wife and I sold our single-family home in Durham, NC, to move here. Our bungalow was modest in size—only a two-bedroom, though a loft above our living room became a third in a pinch when we hosted friends and family. We also had a fenced-in backyard with a spacious deck and enough tree cover for a little shaded oasis of peace and greenery. The birds chirping every morning made us forget we were a short drive from downtown.

We’re now living on the third floor of an apartment building that's serviced by a small lift, an extra-tight squeeze with grocery bags in tow. While we still have two bedrooms (an equal two-for-two swap), we obviously no longer have a tranquil private yard. We don’t have a patio or terrace either, like many other flats in our neighborhood.

The walls aren’t paper-thin, but sound travels. We occasionally overhear laughter from dinner parties and the odd domestic argument from nearby units. One night, in the stillness, we noticed we could even make out the faint, rhythmic snoring of someone sleeping next door. There’s street noise too—everything you’d expect from a dense urban neighborhood: cars honking, boisterous late-night conversations from the pub on the corner, the random siren. I’m relieved we’re never startled awake by gunshots, something that happened far too many times in the U.S., but noise is more consistent here.

That said, three months in, I’ve realized we haven’t actually sacrificed space to make this move a reality. Some quiet, maybe. But not space. In fact, we have much more space now than we had before: it’s just a different kind.

We traded personal space for shared space.

Our apartment is a short four-minute stroll from Jardim da Parada, a lively green square in the heart of Campo de Ourique. There’s a small playground, a quiosque that transitions from a cafe in the mornings to a beer garden in the evenings, and plenty of benches and tables where locals gather for lunch and card games. A small, shaded pond, home to ducks and turtles, anchors the space with a sense of serenity despite the buzz of commerce from nearby boutique shops and markets.

Another five-minute walk takes us to Jardim da Estrela, a park I’ve already written about at length, and for good reason. I can probably count on one hand the days I haven’t spent at least some time within its gates since moving here. Morning runs, lazy afternoon picnics, people-watching over a galão or a Super Bock from one of the two quiosques—it’s all part of our routine now. We often find ourselves taking the scenic route just to pass through, even if it adds ten minutes to wherever we’re headed.

If we turn left instead of right when leaving our building, we’ll eventually arrive at Jardim das Amoreiras, about a 12-minute walk away. It’s a square that feels tucked away and slightly secretive, cradled beneath the centuries-old Águas Livres Aqueduct. We didn’t even realize it was there until weeks of exploring the neighborhood on foot eventually lured us through its magnificent arches. Now, it’s become part of our rhythm too. We often meet up with another couple who live across the street, usually with a quick text: Come down for a coffee? And they always do. It’s the kind of spontaneous, low-stakes hang that felt rare back in the U.S., where getting together often meant coordinating schedules, tidying the house, and playing host.

And when we want to get outside our little corner of the city, an 18-minute trek downhill takes us to Praça das Flores, a plaza so effortlessly charming we instantly regret not coming more often. Cafes, wine bars, and gelato shops hug the edges, shaded by the towering canopy of jacaranda and plane trees. Throughout the day, and well into the night, people gather around the central fountain, benches filled with friends chatting while passing wine bottles back and forth, couples sharing desserts, and solo visitors quietly basking in the ambience.

These public spaces have become extensions of our own private space. The hours we used to spend scrolling through Netflix, Hulu, and Apple TV in search of something, anything, to stave off boredom in our former home have now been replaced by days lost in these open-air living rooms and communal gardens.

Of course, we can’t claim any of it as ours.

Quiosque das Amoreiras. Photo by Cody Strahm.

There’s no social status bump when downsizing from a cute bungalow with a backyard into an old apartment building. To many, I’m sure, we not only downsized, we downgraded. But letting go of ego, of any pressure to “look the part,” has given us the freedom to focus on what actually brings us joy. We traded personal square footage for days that feel richer, more meaningful. For friendships and connections that form without so much effort. For shared spaces that nourish the soul.

In choosing less, we’ve ended up with far more.

I don’t write any of this to convince other Americans to move to Portugal or elsewhere in Europe. The move my wife and I made, leaving behind friends, family, and our livelihoods, is not feasible, let alone desirable, for the vast majority of people reading this. Change any of the circumstances that enabled our emigration—young mothers and fathers on both sides of the family, no children of our own, enough savings to afford an immigration lawyer—and none of this would have been possible (or, at the very least, would’ve been much more difficult). I have no desire to sell a move abroad as a simple fix for others feeling the loneliness of individualism and poor urban planning.

I am, however, advocating for a mindset shift, challenging something deeply ingrained in American culture and values: the idea that, when it comes to personal living space, bigger is always better, more is always more, and the sheer number of bedrooms and bathrooms is a key marker of success and happiness.

According to a 2023 survey from the Pew Research Center, the majority of Americans would prefer living in large homes, separated by wide lawns, with amenities, like schools, markets, and restaurants several miles away, only accessible by car, as opposed to living in smaller homes that are closer together but walkable to communal spaces.

I’m not saying all of those people are wrong. I realize, as a city person, I’m biased. There are certain realities that come with living in an urban environment, like the street noise I’ve grown accustomed to outside our bedroom window, that are deal-breakers for many. There is no shortage of people who genuinely love living in car-centric neighborhoods, where connectivity is limited but privacy is abundant. Many have even moved to the suburbs or a small town after years living in a large city and would never move back.

But I also suspect that many in that majority simply haven’t had the chance to experience a different way of living, to walk, to congregate, to relax in neighborhoods that are designed for people, not just cars. That they’ve been taught to pursue more space, more separation, more privacy, without realizing what they might be giving up in return. I say this because I used to be one of them. Before traveling through Europe, before eventually moving here, I didn’t understand how much the pursuit of “more” could actually leave me with less. Less community. Less spontaneity. Less ease.

The data bears this out. According to research by economist Clement Bellet, the median size of newly built American homes has grown by over 1,000 square feet since 1973, nearly doubling the amount of square footage per person (home sizes in the U.S. are now over twice as large as homes in the EU on average). And yet, homeowner satisfaction has remained stagnant.

Bellet’s research also suggests that Americans’ contentment with their home’s size has less to do with comfort or utility and more to do with comparison to neighbors. The bigger the house in relation to other homes on the block, the more satisfaction homeowners generally have. This indicates many Americans are not just chasing space, they’re chasing status.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that during roughly the same time home sizes began growing drastically, Americans started spending much less time socializing. Since the 1960s, participation in clubs, community events, and even simple pastimes like picnics has declined sharply.

And loneliness has been on the rise for decades. In 1990, a third of Americans said they had 10 or more close friends. By 2021, that number had plummeted to just 13%, while the share of people with no close friends at all rose by a whopping 400%. It’s tempting to blame these trends solely on technology and the migration of social life to online platforms, but I think at least part of the story lies in how much the U.S. has prioritized personal space at the expense of connectivity. While the EU faces similar challenges, loneliness rates among middle-aged adults, for example, are notably lower.

Of course, the big wildcard in all of this is children. My wife and I don’t have any, and I recognize that makes our needs very different from those of families. Wanting more space to raise kids isn’t just understandable, it’s often necessary. But I do think the amount of space families believe they need in the U.S. is often overstated. What’s rarely part of the conversation is how much children, too, benefit from access to shared spaces, like neighborhood parks and playgrounds. In many European cities, it’s normal to see kids playing unsupervised in public, gaining independence, burning energy, and building social skills. By contrast, research shows that American children get less physical activity on average. So while more square footage might make indoor life easier, I wonder if what kids really need more of is room to safely and freely roam outside.

I don’t pretend to have a perfect solution for reversing the trends of expanding personal spaces, shrinking shared spaces, and the loneliness that often follows. As an urbanist nerd, there are policy shifts I believe will help, like building up instead of out, banning single-family zoning and parking minimums, and embracing urban design that fosters walkable, community-oriented neighborhoods, though I realize how difficult those changes will be to implement at scale in the current political climate. But I do believe that more Americans realizing the true costs of maximizing personal space is a crucial first step toward reimagining how cities and neighborhoods should be built in the future.

I want others to have access to the kinds of communal third places we’ve come to find solace in since moving to Portugal.

And I don’t believe anyone should have to move across an ocean just to find them.

Here are some other ways you can support our work: