Latest news with #emptyNest
%3Amax_bytes(150000)%3Astrip_icc()%2FTAL-header-siem-reap-cambodia-SOLDITALLAT550525-3a5c5f3dff8241a5a4af6c5fafb7fc31.jpg&w=3840&q=100)
Travel + Leisure
03-06-2025
- Business
- Travel + Leisure
My Husband and I Sold Everything at 55 Years Old and Found a Fuller Life Traveling the World for Under $3,000 a Month
When we locked the door to our family home for the last time, I didn't feel brave. I felt as though everything I'd ever known was slipping away, piece by piece. But the truth was, it was time for something different, something bigger. My hand lingered on the doorknob, the weight of what we were doing pressing on my chest. This house was where we raised our four daughters, hosted countless birthday and holiday dinners, and watched our nine grandkids run barefoot through the backyard and splash in the pool. Now, it was empty—sold, along with our cars, our furniture, and even the physical therapy business we'd spent years building. My husband, Shayne, and I exchanged a glance, almost daring the other to change their mind. Honestly, I almost did. But it was too late. We were empty nesters in our 50s, who'd spent years building a business, a home, and a life in Arizona. But at some point, it all started to feel heavy—not bad, just predictable. It was like we were living the same Tuesday on repeat. So we traded it all for two suitcases, a backpack, one-way tickets to Bali, and a dream we couldn't fully explain: to see the world slowly, intentionally, and on a limited budget. We weren't retired. We weren't trust-fund babies. We were just determined to squeeze every drop of meaning from the time we had left. But standing on that porch with the keys in my hand, I didn't feel bold. I felt terrified. The Leap Posing in front of the Eiffel Tower and at the Gembleng Waterfall in Bali, Indonesia. Shelly Peterson/Travel + Leisure The decision didn't come overnight. It began as a whisper—an idea we tossed around during vacations, long walks around our neighborhood, and while floating in the pool. But the whisper grew louder, and soon, I found myself thinking more and more about my mom, Sandy. She had always dreamed of traveling once she retired. She even mapped out trips to work on her passion for genealogy, but she passed away from cancer just eight months before that day ever came. That truth haunted me. It reminded me we were all waiting too long—for the grandkids to grow, for the business to settle, for the mythical 'right time' that never arrives with a calendar invite. So, one day, we stopped waiting. We launched Jet Set Club, a business that sends daily international flight deals to our subscribers, helping them find affordable ways to explore the world. Along with our travel blog, Jetset Petersons, we created a small income stream that allowed us to continue living our dream. We sold everything, cut our expenses to the bone, and used our savings to fund this adventure. We tracked every dollar and vowed to live with a lot less. After a while, we realized we missed having a "home base" when we returned to the U.S., and the cost of renting Airbnbs was adding up. So we bought a small condo, which we use when we're in town and rent out on Airbnb when we're not. We started in Bali, where we rented a villa with a private pool for $900 a month. We swapped Target runs for market stalls, dinner dates with $1 noodles at warungs, and errands in the car for scooter rides through the jungle to discover waterfalls. At first, it was unnerving. We didn't speak the language, we had no plan beyond the next month, and we didn't even know if we'd like it. But in the stillness, something shifted. We were living with less—and somehow feeling more. Moments That Changed Us Cruising along Vietnam's Ha Long Bay and while exploring the streets of Spain. Shelly Peterson/Travel + Leisure Travel didn't just change how we saw the world—it changed how we moved through it. In Thailand, we woke to the sound of birds, the air thick with jasmine—a simplicity that felt more profound than anything we had ever known back home. We learned to ride scooters (barely), take off our shoes before entering temples, and how to spot the best khao soi in a sea of food stalls. With just two suitcases each, we felt lighter—physically and emotionally—than we had in years. In Spain, we traveled slowly through neighborhoods instead of tourist attractions. We bought fruit at the market, ate dinner at 10 p.m., and got lost in the Gothic Quarter more times than we could count. We weren't on vacation—we were just living differently. Life felt slower. Sharper. In France, we wandered through charming neighborhoods, enjoying quiet moments in tiny cafes, savoring the simple joy of a fresh, buttery croissant. In Paris, we strolled along the Seine, taking in the beauty of the city's art, architecture, and culture while averaging mor ethan 20,000 steps a day. It was there that we truly understood the beauty of unhurried living—the way the French do it so effortlessly. Not every moment went as planned. Take the time we misread the visa requirements for Vietnam and had to make a last-minute detour to Cambodia. We landed with no hotel, no itinerary, and absolutely no clue—yet somehow, we ended up at a charming boutique inn where the staff treated us like old friends. We visited Angkor Wat three days in a row, awestruck by its beauty. It turned into one of those happy surprises that made the journey all the more unforgettable. Turns out, the best memories aren't the ones we plan. They're the ones that catch us by surprise and remind us how adaptable—and deeply human—we all are. What We Gave Up—and Gained A Peterson family beach photo. Shelly Peterson/Travel + Leisure People often ask us what the hardest part is. It's not the long flights, the unfamiliar languages, or even the money. It's missing our people. We left behind four daughters, nine grandkids, lifelong friends, and the comfort of a family and home we'd spent years building. We miss birthdays, soccer games, and dance recitals. We miss Sunday dinners, messy art projects, and bedtime giggles when babysitting the grandkids. Sometimes, the grief of that distance sneaks in quietly—over a blurry FaceTime call or an empty chair at the holiday table. But what we've gained is something precious: presence. Without the noise of a busy life, we listen better—to each other and to ourselves. Our mornings are slow and full of conversation. We've laughed more in the past two years than we did in the 10 before. We've argued less. We've marveled more. We've also redefined what 'home' means. It's not a zip code or a mortgage. Home is wherever we feel peace—whether we're savoring street food in Amsterdam, wandering rice terraces in Bali, or standing hand-in-hand at the edge of the South Pacific Sea, wondering how we ever lived so small in such a big, beautiful world. We've been married for 36 years, and through it all—raising kids, building businesses, and now traveling the world—we've learned how to support each other in ways we never imagined. Every adventure, every challenge, has only strengthened our bond, reminding us the best part of this journey is doing it together. Living With Intention at Home Coming home briefly to the U.S. a few times a year is always a reminder of how much we've changed. Where once we rushed through errands, appointments, and the usual whirlwind of daily life, we now approach these moments with more intention. We spend more time with family, relishing the conversations and moments that used to get lost in the noise. We're more thoughtful about what we purchase, what we prioritize, and how we spend our time. We've learned that the quality of time matters far more than the quantity, whether we're at a family gathering or simply enjoying a quiet afternoon at home. Our travels taught us that life is about the moments in between, and now, we bring that mindset home, making every day feel just a little more meaningful. The Life We Didn't Know We Were Waiting For Here we are, two years later. We've traveled to 14 countries, lived on less than $3,000 a month, and found a life that's less about checking boxes and more about saying 'yes' and collecting moments. This isn't just a story about travel—it's about permission. The kind you give yourself to start over at any age. To trade comfort for curiosity. To realize it's never too late—or too expensive—to choose a life that finally feels like yours. We didn't just downsize our belongings. We downsized the pressure, the pace, and the expectations that once defined us. It wasn't easy at first, but letting go of those old definitions of success made room for something more meaningful: joy, growth, and a deeper connection to each other and the world around us. What we've learned is that the life we were truly waiting for wasn't found in a place or in things—it was found in the choice to live with intention, to say "yes" to what truly matters, and to embrace the unknown together, with open arms.
Times
31-05-2025
- Health
- Times
Should I crash my son's gap year?
An empty nest hits some parents harder than expected and Michelle Obama recently admitted to having therapy to deal with hers. I'm the same age as Mrs O, a 'nan-aged' empty-nester who had two sons in my late thirties and early forties. However, after the sudden accidental death of my elder son, Jackson, in September 2023, at the age of just 21, it's fair to say my nest is even emptier than the former first lady's. Emptier, indeed, than I ever imagined it could be. I haven't had therapy and found other ways to get through. Yet towards the end of 2024 I'd all but exhausted my coping strategies when my partner was suddenly diagnosed with cancer and rushed into surgery. To deal with yet more extreme stress I chose to retreat; to batten down the hatches to get through what promised to be another tough winter, at the end of the cruellest year of my life. If this wasn't tough enough, while navigating profound personal loss and illness I lost friendships too. Inevitably, as so many testing, unanticipated chapters of my life unfolded, not everybody in it was able to stay on the same page. Still, while in this peculiar holding pattern I had sufficient wherewithal to suggest to my 18-year-old son, Rider, that after the worst year of his life — coinciding with his A-levels — he should probably embark on his richly deserved gap year even sooner than he had planned. With my partner about to start three months of postoperative preventive chemotherapy and Rider's friends scattered to uni or on travels of their own, there was little to look forward to at home, in the House of Absolutely No Fun Whatsoever. The Bank of Mum and Dad — albeit separated and repartnered for many years — ensured Rider boarded a flight to Brisbane on December 5 last year. At the other end he was met by my Aussie half-brother, Jonny, sister-in-law, Felicity, and two of my three nephews, Dominic, 10, and Memphis, 14 months, whom I'd never even met myself. It had been 16 years since I'd last visited Australia (along with a six-year-old Jackson) and 12 years since my Australian family had visited me; the latest addition to their family was born exactly a month to the day after Jackson had died. Given that my Aussie-born, UK-based father died in 2019 and my Aussie mother (who returned to Australia 45 years ago) died in 2020, during Covid, what remained of my diminished gene pool was quite suddenly all on the other side of the world. While I was born in the UK and have lived the whole of my adult life here I felt an umbilical tug. The thing is, my earliest memories are of the year I spent in Oz, aged three, when my mother had a trial separation from my father and took me 'home' — she was a country girl, having grown up on an 80,000-acre sheep station on the New South Wales/Victoria border. My parents eventually reconciled (for a few years) and I returned from my free-range year roaming the Australian bush to the suburbs of London. Accessorised by a tan and a broad Aussie accent, I defaulted to 'steereo' for stereo (a word used more often in the 1960s/1970s than today!) for years. After his arrival I gave Rider long enough to get over the jet lag and used to the high-summer heat before I started begging for pictures and updates via WhatsApp … Poor kid! Previously he and his brother had navigated the usual blended family's revolving doors ('Make sure you phone Mum on Mother's Day … I'll buy the card for Father's Day …'). They had each other's backs; now, tragically, Rider faced a future navigating the demands of his separated-but-equally-bereaved parents all by himself. His father and I inevitably both want big pieces of him while recognising he needs a new space for himself, free from our neediness; inevitably a tough balancing act for all. In the meantime, however, thank God for WhatsApp. 'What do you think of Australia so far?!' 'Amazing. I love it!' 'Good to hear! Show me the view!' Rider turned his phone around, waving a 'tinny' at a sunset over the gum trees with a twinkling Southern Cross emerging in the early evening sky. I sighed. 'That looks fantastic. Have the best time. Love you loads …' It really was a visceral tug. Yet I knew it was for the best that Rider remained a long way away from home during yet another emotionally bleak winter. Shortly before he died Jackson said that 2023 had been 'the perfect summer'. And now, if only by default in the light of his death, 2023 had become my 'perfect summer' too. Yet, once again, summer — the metaphorical and the real one ahead — seemed very far away, while future 'perfect summers' felt impossibly out of reach. Meantime I battened down the hatches once more. As my partner embarked on three months of chemotherapy I wanted to be there for him. However, (if all went well) afterwards I also wanted to reclaim space for myself. • 35 of the best things to do in Australia As Rider celebrated Aussie Christmas in Queensland — barbecue, swimming, cricket, hitting Surfers Paradise bars and clubs with his eldest cousin, Jordan — I hatched a plan. By the time he'd travelled to Sydney for New Year before arriving in Melbourne, I knew what I needed to do. Though how would my son feel if I crashed his gap year? Have you ever joined your child on their gap year? Let us know in the comments below
Daily Mail
27-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos reveal the NSFW dress code they've adopted ever since their kids moved out
and Mark Consuelos ' home has become a clothing-optional space ever since their children moved out. The parents of three revealed their life has become a 'freak show' following the departure of their youngest child as they offered words of comfort to actress Amanda Peet, whose eldest is now moving out for school. While Amanda, 53, began getting emotional at the thought of her child leaving, Kelly, 54, and Mark, 54, assured her there is a NSFW light at the end of the tunnel. 'The first one is like a bit of a shock,' Kelly explained on Monday's episode of Live with Kelly and Mark. 'Each one, the second one it's like no big deal, third one for 24 to 48 hours, you're gonna be like, "Oh my gosh, what have we done? Now it's just us." And then your entire life becomes nudity in the household wherever you want them.' 'It's a freak show,' Mark said. 'Total freak show', Kelly concurred. From A-list scandals and red carpet mishaps to exclusive pictures and viral moments, subscribe to the DailyMail's new Showbiz newsletter to stay in the loop. Kelly and Mark have three children together and their youngest, Joaquin Consuelos, 22, graduated from the University of Michigan this year. The couple also have son Michael Consuelos, 27, who graduated from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts in 2020, and daughter Lola Consuelos, 23, who is also a NYU graduate. Kelly and Mark previously revealed how difficult the adjustment was. 'We became empty nesters. We took our youngest son to college, we dropped him off,' Kelly said on a 2021 episode of her talk show. 'It was hard. It was really hard.' In a joint 2023 interview with People, Mark compared the feeling to 'a loss.' 'It was deep,' he said. 'It was like a loss.' 'When Joaquin left [for the University of Michigan], it was hard, the two of us and the dogs staring at each other, like "Well, now what?"' Kelly said. 'The first dinner I cooked, I'm not kidding, was for 12 people, and it was just the two of us. We sat there with this inordinate amount of food, neither one of us hungry at all,' she said. Kelly initially worried they wouldn't have enough to talk about. The couple dished on their newfound preference for nudity on Monday's episode of Live with Kelly and Mark 'We're empty nesters, oh no, what are we going to discuss?!' Kelly said of her initial thoughts. But the pain quickly faded: 'The first 48 hours we were leaning into the despair and then we really leaned into the positive side,' she added. 'We got over it!' As fans of the couple will know, the duo have never been shy about candidly discussing their sex life and the unique places they have gotten it on at. In September 2022, Kelly confessed on Watch What Happens Live that she and Mark have been intimate with each other in Andy Cohen's Fire Island rental home. 'That was a day trip!' Andy said in shock at the revelation. 'It was a rental!' Kelly insisted. 'I figured I wasn't desecrating anything that you own,' she added, leaving viewers jaw-dropped. In addition to Cohen's rental, Kelly admitted she and her beau had also had sex on boat, in a public bathroom and even on the set of All My Children. In 2020, the TV personality previously told Cohen that she had Mark had such a healthy sex life because they 'found each other at the right time in our lives.' She added that both her and Mark believe that 'experimentation is fun.'
Telegraph
22-05-2025
- Lifestyle
- Telegraph
‘I was relieved when he left': Is it bad to celebrate when your children move out?
The empty nest used to be a rite of passage for parents waving their children off into adulthood. It was meant to usher in a new era of freedom, travel and fun for midlifers, before grandchildren reclaimed their time. But life isn't quite so linear now. We're often emotionally closer to our children than previous generations were, many families communicate constantly via social media, and Gen X mums and dads often hang out with their teenagers simply because it's fun. So when they really go for good, it can be incredibly painful. As A-levels roll on and university shimmers in the distance, the prospect of the empty nest looms over parents. No more late-night chats when they crash in from the pub, no more lifts, no more beloved, familiar presence in the next bedroom. The actress Sadie Frost admitted earlier this year that she 'fell apart' when her offspring all left. She told Good Housekeeping's podcast, 'You get up, you make breakfast, you do the school run… When all that stopped, I fell apart. This… was my engine. This was what was driving me.' I felt the same when my only son left home for university, way back in 2011. I now refer to that period as 'my nervous breakdown years' – because not only were we extremely close, but I had had him aged 22, and had barely known adult life without him at the centre of my decisions. His security and happiness were what drove my work ethic for 18 years, and without him there, as Barbie sang, I had no idea what I had been made for. My marriage fell apart, I moved to a new city in search of answers and it took me several years to find a path forward. 'Even though it was difficult when [the four children] all left home, it made me embrace being on my own,' said Frost. 'I had to face that fear.' According to the Office for National Statistics, the average age for children to leave home is now 25. The Institute for Fiscal Studies has also found that since 2006, the number of adults aged 25-34 living at home has risen from 13 per cent to 18 per cent. But when they do finally leave, for some mothers, the wrench can be agonising. Toni Koppel, 65, a videographer from London, has sons aged 28 and 30. She says, 'I was so upset when my eldest left home to go to university in York. I thought I'd never be able to survive. We took him there and I was so sad all the way home,' she recalls. 'It was very hard to let go. He'd never lived away from home before. He'd never cooked anything himself, he was very shy. I was so worried about him. Even though his brother was still at home, the place felt empty.' Gradually, however, Koppel began to see an upside. 'I moped around for two weeks, then I slowly realised there was less washing to do, the fridge stayed fuller, there was less housework.' In the holidays, she adds, 'The house became bustling again with two young men arguing, leaving clothes and dirty plates everywhere. After a few days, I would want him to go back to uni!' After graduating, both her sons left home permanently. 'I realise now that the short university terms were training me for these years – and now it was my turn to thrive again,' says Koppel. 'I started volunteering at the Five Bells Computer Club that I now run, I started SugarSweet Video Productions and joined a Nordic walking class.' But while Koppel experienced an incremental introduction to the empty nest, Kari Roberts, 61, a coach and author from Hampshire, waved her eldest son off unexpectedly when he was just 16. 'He'd always wanted to go to the US to play basketball and he got the chance for a year when he was 16,' she explains. 'It was organised in a rush, and he flew out just two days after getting his GCSE results.' Initially, she felt 'a mixture of sadness and excitement, as he was achieving his dream'. But while away, he decided to stay and complete the two-year high-school diploma. 'He came home for a holiday. Taking him to the airport the second time, I was overcome with such sadness, I broke down in tears,' recalls Roberts. 'I knew deep down he would carry on living in the US. He went to university there, and is now married with a family in San Diego.' The sense of loss lasted years. 'I still have a surge of emotions when I think about it, and his age at the time definitely added to it. I felt like a bit of me was missing, but I knew I couldn't stop him as this had been his dream for years.' They now visit regularly, and Roberts's other grown children live within a 15-minute drive. 'But it's still hard. We couldn't meet his second child for two years because of lockdowns. I still miss him.' While most of us want happy independence for our children, some clearly find the transition easier than others – and some of that depends on their personalities, says single mother and binge eating coach Harriet Morris, 53, who lives in Shrewsbury. 'Louis was a confident, happy-go-lucky child right from the toddler years,' she says. 'I saw his independence as a good thing. Since he left for uni, I do have times when I feel wistful and see how fast the years have flown by,' she admits. 'I miss chatting to him. But I am overwhelmingly delighted that he has started to explore the world beyond sleepy old Shropshire. I do think my being a single parent played a part in my relief when he left – I'd been on my own for a whole decade, bringing up two lively boys.' Morris understands, she says, that sadness is part of letting go, 'but growing up seems to me to be about leaving your parents in stages'. There's still a tendency, however, to imagine that dads will merrily wave the kids off, while the mother falls apart – but that's not necessarily the case, says Michael Taylor*, 52, a quantity surveyor from Liverpool. 'Our daughter Natalie* left two years ago to go to university in London,' he says. 'She's suffered from anxiety in the past and she found the transition really challenging. She phoned home a lot, and my wife, Karen*, would spend hours reassuring her. We both missed her massively, partly because we knew she wasn't having a good time,' he explains. 'I tried to be strong for her and Karen, who was worrying about her constantly, but my own sadness felt like I was dragging a lead weight around,' Taylor adds. 'I felt I hadn't done a good enough job as her dad, that she wasn't ready for independence. Thankfully, by the Easter term, she'd met some like-minded girls and started to find her niche.'' But, he admits, 'It was a really tough time. I don't think Karen knows quite how hard I found it too, but as a dad, you feel you have to support everyone else. I'm just so glad she's found her path now.' Empty nesting, as Sadie Frost has discovered, can be a curious mix of freedom and fear, relief and regret. 'Missing your child, but knowing they're happy and independent, is a good problem to have, I think,' says Harriet Morris. All these years later, I can confirm that she's entirely correct.
Times
08-05-2025
- Health
- Times
Michelle Obama is smart to have therapy in her sixties
For many 60 is an age of reckoning. Women have gone through menopause, many couples are empty-nesting, or near to it, and God knows what the state of your relationship is. People realise, 'I've got a good 20 or so years left, if I'm lucky — what am I going to do with it? How am I going to give it meaning?' At last you have the opportunity to make it about you. But for that you have to explore who you are, what you can be and what you need. Therapy is about helping you with that. And in speaking publicly about seeing a therapist at 60, Michelle Obama has set a great example. It's the age by which we've shed a lot of
