Lisa Williams is a minimalist. After her husband passed away in 2014, she was content to move into a studio apartment in Las Vegas. But when her rent increased by 25% from 2020 to 2022, she had to downsize more than she’d ever expected.
Now, Williams, 63, is a “workamper”, parking her 17ft trailer in national and state parks across Nevada, California and Arizona. She works as a visitor center host for 25 to 30 hours a week in exchange for an RV spot with full hookup – which can cost $800 a month or more. Williams still has to make a $210 monthly payment on her trailer, about all she can afford on her social security and pension income of $35,000 annually.
“I didn’t think I would be living in an RV forever, but now it is my only option,” she said. Though Williams has adapted to this lifestyle, and even enjoys the remote beauty of the places she lives in, she admits it comes with many tradeoffs – space being one of them. She only has about 130 sq ft inside her trailer. “If I even buy a new pair of shoes, I have to get rid of a pair,” she said.
Williams is among the hundreds of people who shared with the Guardian their hopes for the homes they’d like to have, versus their housing realities. Taken together, they portray an America where even modest housing dreams are increasingly out of reach for many, and especially for certain groups like seniors. Williams has met many workampers, most 60 or older, who have turned to this lifestyle because it was the only one they could afford.
‘Something that I thought was in reach’
“The American dream of home ownership, it wasn’t necessarily something that I always wanted, especially on my own, but it was something that I thought was in reach if I wanted it,” said Katie Dahlquist, 48, who has been renting since 1999. “And now it’s not.”
About four years ago, her rent started increasing faster than her salary. (For most Americans, rents have actually been growing faster than incomes since 1999.) She started thinking about buying a home – but quickly realized it was near impossible. Dahlquist, a corporate training specialist, earns $68,000 annually and pays $1,700 a month in rent. “I can’t afford to pay rent and save for a down payment,” she said. If she had a partner to split the rent and utilities, she might be able to buy one day. But for many single people – who make up a growing share of the population – this can feel hopeless.
“It’s not just people in their 20s and 30s that have housing anxiety. And it’s not just low-wage workers,” she said.
Shawna De Gaetano’s middle age is also looking different from what she’d expected. A 53-year-old nurse assistant, De Gaetano hoped to have bought a tiny home by now. Instead, she’s spent the past few years living with her daughter, staying in motels and crashing on friends’ couches. In November, she finally moved into a studio apartment in Arlington, in northern Washington state, where she pays $1,370 a month in rent. But finding this place, and making it all work with transport and her new job was “like putting pieces of a puzzle together”, she said. De Gaetano can’t afford a car, and picked this apartment because it’s only two blocks from her new job at a hospital. For most people, transportation is their second-largest expense after housing, and many respondents shared how a lack of good public transit severely limited their housing options.
De Gaetano’s job only pays $21.90 an hour – not enough to meet the requirement from her landlord that her monthly income is at least three times what she pays in rent. For now, De Gaetano plans to work as a cleaner at the hospital a couple of nights a week to supplement her salary. “I never thought I’d be in this situation at my age,” she said.
‘At 35, I had hoped to have bought a home’
Many echoed this sentiment, even younger Americans among the top 10% of income earners. Jeff Rodny is an Oakland, California-based AI research scientist who earns $190,000 annually. “At 35, I had hoped to have bought a home like my parents at twentysomething,” he said. But Rodny is still renting. After taxes, health insurance and medical costs, student loan payments, 401k contributions, he and his wife have about $5,000 a month left over. Yet with mortgage rates soaring to a 20-year high, buying a $600,000 house – just above the average price of a condo in the Oakland area – would, by his calculation, not leave enough money for groceries. Rodny recognizes they have chosen to live in an expensive area. Still, he wonders: if he can’t afford to buy a house, who can?
For the past five years, the inventory of available homes in the US has been declining. And with Covid opening up more possibilities for remote work, housing costs have soared even in historically affordable states like Indiana and Mississippi, where home prices have increased by 48.2% and 38.2% respectively. But inflation has made it harder for renters to save towards down payments.
People with disabilities face all these challenges, and worse. Sarah Longstaff, 56, suffers from a neck injury that has kept her from working in her field of linguistics. She and her two children are also autistic, with heightened sensitivities to sounds and smells, which limits their housing options. After months of searching in Tampa’s overvalued rental market, Longstaff found a place for $1,775 a month in Port Richey, just north-west of the city, where housing demand is slightly less. But after her lease expires in May, she’s not sure what she’ll do. Her only income is alimony of $1,400 a month, so she’s been using up her retirement savings. Soon, those will run out. But trying to find a cheaper place, or moving out of Tampa entirely, are also daunting. She might end up sleeping in her car, she said, trying to keep her voice down to avoid scaring her children.
Ray Sellers* knows how quick the transition from housed to homeless can be. Last spring, after several disagreements with their landlord in Burlington, Vermont, they decided not to renew their lease. They spent the next weeks looking for another place. “On paper, I seem like a good tenant, but once the potential landlord sees me face-to-face, suddenly I have no response,” they said. Sellers is AfroCherokee and genderless – unusual in the largely white college town of Burlington. They recalled one instance where the landlord had been very amiable over text, but once Sellers and their sister showed up, “his face changed a little bit”. He didn’t respond to their follow-up messages. Black, Latinx and LGBTQ+ renters continue to be discriminated against by landlords.
Unable to find a place before their lease ended, Sellers spent much of last spring and summer sleeping in their car. After four months, they and their sister finally found a two-bedroom apartment.
Sellers still dreams of a place of their own one day: “A modest two-bedroom with a nice garden.”
‘It’s hard to be unhappy’
Some Guardian readers did share stories of stability, however precarious. Those who have bought in recent years feel lucky. Rachel Suy Houldridge, 31, moved from Oregon to Cape Cod in 2022 for a better-paying job. As a private estate gardener, she now earns $80,000 annually, 20% more than she did previously. Late last year, she bought a “small, run-down, 90-year-old house for well over $300,000.” Rachel is happy to settle in a place that feels safe for queer, interracial couples. But, “I do feel house poor,” she said. They have a leaky roof, poor insulation and other structural issues. Still, she’s confident the house was a good long-term investment.
Others are happy to pay more in rent but save on other costs. Clarence*, a 33-year old bookseller, and his partner say they were priced out of Florida in 2021. “We moved to Seattle which is, contrary to conventional wisdom, far more affordable than anywhere in Florida,” he said. “Rent is a bit higher, but we make twice as much, and our transportation costs are nearly nonexistent.” Combined, they make $80,000 annually and pay $1,640 in rent. They can hear Interstate-5 from their windows, and they dream of moving to a quieter neighborhood one day. Still, “it’s hard to be unhappy”, said Clarence. “We are doing far better in this housing market than so many of our neighbors.”
* Not their real name
