My dream home isn’t what you might expect. Sure, I could dream big—some sprawling mansion with amenities straight out of a billionaire’s Pinterest board. But in this economy? The way Eggs are going up in price? Let’s keep it real. That’s not likely in the cards for me.

My dream home isn’t going to make Architectural Digest. I know it’s game: minimalist furniture nobody can sit on, tiny succulents in ceramic prisons, and marble countertops colder than my soul before coffee. That’s good for some people but for me? No thanks. Plus, think of all that cleaning.

Still, if you know me you’d know I’m a fan of hypotheticals, so humor me. What if I did dream big?

Dreaming Big: The Lair of Legends

Imagine an architectural masterpiece designed to seduce the senses. Something right out of a fantasy novel. My dream home—let’s call it my nook—would cater to every facet of my existence.

For my “don’t talk to me” days, there’d be a soundproof sanctuary with blackout curtains. A large bed so comfortable it feels like being hugged by a thousand marshmallows while I lay diagonally. And a filtered water dispenser so I don’t have to trudge to the kitchen. (Is it magic? Is it tech? Who knows. I just don’t want to interact.) Fit with soundproofing so thick you could hear a pin drop…if I allowed pins in my sanctuary.

For the days I need a jolt of dopamine, there would be rooms painted in bold colors. Colors with art that makes you pause mid-step and say, “Wait, what am I looking at?” Music would play automatically. Not just the generic ‘lo-fi beats to chill to’—I’m talking playlists that feel like someone read my mind and made the perfect mixtape.

The pièce de résistance? An inner courtyard of trees, nature, to satisfy my nature deficit disorder. A fancy goldfish tank or two stocked by Jimmy’s Goldfish. Maybe some really freakin’ cute porcupine puffer fish..oh and dwarf puffer fish (pea puffer fish.) No, I don’t have a problem. Yes, they’re fish. Okay. It’s a slight problem.

Naturally, I’d employ a rowdy team of fish experts. Naturally, I’d have a full fish team on payroll—complete with a fish vet. Because if you’ve ever owned a fish tank, you know the fish are fine until they’re not, and by then, it’s an emergency. I wouldn’t see them unless I wanted to (the staff, not the fish—though the fish also need to stay in their lane).

Of course, I’d also need some top-notch tech to control my devices on a ‘secure’ network. Managed by people I actually trust—a rare find these days. Can I trust myself with that task? Absolutely not.

The location? Somewhere allergy-optimized and mostly disaster-resilient, without being a bunker. Socially accessible yet private enough to be a fortress of my choosing. Spacious but not extravagant—just enough for my family, me, and maybe the occasional guest who doesn’t overstay their welcome. Ideally, it’d be socially accessible but private enough that no one could “pop by.” If you want to see me or my family, send a calendar invite and wait for your rejection email just like everyone else.

Dreaming Moderately: A Better Balance

Okay, maybe that’s a little over the top. Let’s scale it back a bit and dream..to scale. What would my dream home look like in a more reasonable world?

For starters, it’d be in a climate that doesn’t trigger every allergy in my medical history. One where my wife doesn’t complain every day of the 98% humidity. First, it’d be in a better climate. I’m done fighting nature just to exist. Give me a place where my wife and I can thrive. Where there’s public transit we can actually use, and local events that don’t require a 45-minute drive or sacrificing a goat for parking. Where the dog parks are convenient and not run-down.

There would be space for all our passions. Dueling home offices for peak productivity and a bedroom big enough for the entire family, including our dogs’ various custom beds. (Lu’s toddler-sized dog bed is a masterpiece that deserves its own HGTV feature.)

And of course, there would be non-negotiable spots for the fish tanks. Pro tip: once you set up a large fish tank, it’s basically permanent. Moving a tank is a logistical nightmare—ask any fish owner.

We’d have dueling offices because as much as I love my wife, I don’t need to hear her work calls or have her hear me arguing with Google Docs. The bedroom would be spacious enough for all the dog beds, including Lu’s custom toddler-sized bed—yes, you read that right. My dog sleeps better than most toddlers in her 4 poster bed.

But mostly, we’d do a lot of DIY and reno ourselves. We’d save where we could and splurge on the bigger things to make the dream fit. Dreams require work, too.

Dreaming Small: Here and Now

But to be honest, maybe I don’t need the moderately improved daydream. Maybe dreaming big even moderately isn’t what I need right now. Maybe my dream home is..here. With my wife and my fur-kids (and fish). Sometimes, you realize that the dream home you’re searching for is the one you’re already in. This place. Not perfect, not Pinterest-worthy, but home.

Home is where we’ve built memories. It’s where messes get made, cleaned, and made again. It’s where we’ve flooded the living room when tanks have exploded. It’s where the couch has its creases from each and every one of us in our “spot.” It’s where our pets have taken over, our routines have settled, and life happens in all its chaos. It’s not flashy, and no one’s coming to film an HGTV special anytime soon, but it’s ours.