The other night, a few of my old college friends and I ended up talking about housing, which honestly has become a common topic for us the last few years. Someone pulled up Zillow on their phone, and we started scrolling through listings like we were window shopping for a life none of us could afford. Every house felt like Monopoly money. Down payments that looked like full salaries. Monthly payments that matched rent and then some. We laughed it off, but it hit a little too close.

For our parents, it was different. My parents bought their first home in the late eighties, in their late twenties. Nothing fancy, but it was theirs. They had one income for a bit, a modest down payment, and a loan that didn’t feel like a lifelong sentence. My dad told me once that he didn’t even think about if they could buy, it was just the next step. For my generation, that same step feels more like a mountain.

It’s not just in our heads. Prices are still high, mortgage rates are around seven percent, and rent keeps creeping up. Even people who earn decent money feel stuck in neutral. According to Harvard’s 2025 State of the Nation’s Housing Report, home sales hit their lowest level in decades, and affordability is near record lows. (Harvard Joint Center for Housing Studies, 2025) The market hasn’t just cooled off. It’s frozen solid.

A lot of my friends have just quietly accepted that owning might not happen anytime soon. One moved back in with her parents to save. Another keeps renewing his lease every year, even though his rent jumps a little each time. A few of them joke that their only shot is to marry someone with generational wealth. It’s half a joke, half a truth. A Redfin survey this year found that about a quarter of Gen Z and millennial buyers needed help from family for their down payment. That number doesn’t shock anyone I know. (Redfin, 2025)

For me, I kept moving the finish line. I’ll buy once I get promoted. I’ll buy when rates drop. I’ll buy when I finally find the right place. But every time I got closer, something shifted. Higher rates, more competition, another hidden cost. It started to feel like chasing a mirage. The house kept getting further away no matter how fast I ran.

So I stopped running. I stopped seeing homeownership as the finish line and started focusing on something else: freedom. Not the dreamy kind where you quit everything and move to Bali. I mean the real kind, the kind where you can take a break, move cities, or not panic when your job changes or rent goes up.

That mindset shift made everything feel lighter. It gave me space to breathe and rework what stability means for me right now.

Here’s what that looks like.

1. I built a freedom fund.
Everyone talks about emergency funds, but this one’s different. It’s not for disasters, it’s for choices. A few months of expenses tucked away so I don’t feel trapped. It’s saved me from saying yes to work or situations that weren’t right.

2. I stopped treating renting like failure.
I used to think renting meant you were behind. Now I see it as flexibility. It lets me move, adjust, and plan without locking myself into a mortgage that doesn’t fit my life yet. Renting isn’t throwing money away, it’s paying for time to figure things out.

3. I got real about help.
If you have family support, that’s part of your story, not something to hide. If you don’t, there are still programs and first-time buyer options that can help bridge the gap. I used to feel like buying alone was the “pure” way to do it, but there’s no rulebook anymore. You do what works.

4. I started building my exit ramp.
Your main job is the ladder. Your exit ramp is what lets you step off it someday. Maybe it’s a side gig, savings, or just living a little under your means. Whatever it is, it gives you leverage so when life shifts, you’re not stuck hanging on.

5. I redefined success.
For my parents, success was owning a home before 30. For me, it’s having options. Maybe I’ll buy one day, maybe not. I’d rather have freedom and peace than a mortgage that keeps me up at night.

The more I talk to people my age, the more I realize this is becoming normal. The old version of success doesn’t fit anymore. We’re not failing, we’re adapting. We’re learning that stability can come from savings, flexibility, or a life that actually feels sustainable, not just impressive.

So if you’re in your 20s or 30s and feeling behind, you’re not. You’re just living in a different world with different math. The house will still be there when it makes sense. Until then, build your version of security, one that gives you room to live, not just work toward someone else’s definition of success.