The heatwave is over. With much-needed rain, the air feels clearer, cooler. Although a slight summer chill makes me wonder if shorts are still a good idea. Weirdly, on days like this, something shifts. The ground beneath my feet feels a little less steady.

I’m reminded of childhood holidays in France — those carefree summers where time slowed, my parents seemed lighter, and my brother and I were ready for adventure. For a brief window each year, we escaped the normal rhythm of life. It felt magical.

Occasionally, the weather would turn. Grey skies, heavy rain, a sudden summer storm. But even that didn’t spoil things. My parents would declare it was time to “go for an explore” — a local château, perhaps, or an indoor swimming pool with echoing tiles and chlorine-heavy air.

Sometimes, my parents would light a fire in the gîte. A total novelty for us — our home in Stoke-on-Trent was modern and had no such thing. Those moments felt intimate, special. We were together, cosy and warm, tucked away from the world with endless board games.

I loved those days. And strangely, the feeling has stayed with me. But now, as an adult, it often arrives with a pang — a kind of sweet ache. A longing.

I want those days back. That sense of ease, spontaneity, and freedom. That gentle escape from the norm.

It makes me question things. What am I doing? When was the last time I felt that pure joy — the kind that doesn’t come from productivity or ticking things off a list, but from being?

The thing is, I’ve worked hard to create a quieter life. I left the city. I now live in a detached home surrounded by green — the kind of place that gives space to breathe. But even here, compromises exist. I love apartment living, but not city life. I don’t need a big house, but anything smaller in the UK often means cramped rooms, awkward layouts, and little joy in the design. Why is that?

I want simplicity. Calm. A space that feels open, modern, and mine. I want to own my home outright and live more freely. I don’t need grandeur — just something considered, with breathing space. But in this country, that lifestyle feels elusive. Or priced out of reach.

The rain has brought relief to the dry earth. But it’s also brought all of this to the surface.

Maybe you feel it too — the tension between the life you’ve worked for, and the one you quietly still crave. The one that feels just out of reach, even though you’ve ticked all the boxes. Maybe the answer is to keep hoping it happens.

What I wonder on days like these is: how can I escape? Is there such a thing? Or are we inevitably on a treadmill until we can retire?

There’s certainly another adventure in us yet. We just haven’t figured out what that looks like.