Lifestyle lessons from the young and not-so-young ones (2024)

Maybe this housing crisis is our opportunity to reconsider how we live. Instagram keeps telling me that loneliness is one of the biggest health concerns in the Western world

We have 25-year-old flatmates. It’s a joy.

I realise that I have been part of a strange period of Pākehā history where intergenerational living has been considered at best odd, at worst some sort of unhealthy enmeshed relationship with one’s children who ought to fly the nest, leave the community where they grew up and never return. It’s an attitude unique to the modern, capitalist, individually focused, Western world.

Last night, the wheelie bins just ended up on the street, ready for collection without either of the over-60s causing it to happen. Wow.

I think of this living arrangement as “boomer tax”. I’m not quite a boomer but most of my good financial footing was earned while I was asleep, simply because I was lucky enough to be in the right place and time for some exponential rises in land values. I have earned way more in my sleep than in my hard work as a doctor.

My son and his boyfriend now live in the “spare rooms” previously set aside for occasional guests to have comfy beds, nice sheets and their own bathroom. Really? I love my mates who come to stay, but most are hardy and happy in sleeping bags. Are these mainly empty rooms a good use of our home in a housing crisis?

I don’t want to idealise intergenerational living; they are 25, not 18. They have been away, lived in decrepit but expensive flats with windows that don’t open, damp bedding, mould in the showers and indoor southerly gales. At 25, they are reasonably house-trained, like a clean(ish) bench and put the bins out. But they also would have liked a simple thing: a two-bedroom flat in Wellington without mould. You can get one, but at $800 a week – that’s $41,600 a year – it’s hard to save for anything else. Not to mention, they were both young, educated, bright, enthusiastic civil servants with a new government threatening their job security.

It’s lovely having dinner with the young people; they even cook. The conversation is pithy, fun and reflective. We come to the table armed with the urban and Māori dictionaries, so we don’t miss the nuances. But we also have something to offer; each generation has its own wisdom.

They have been teaching me how to “hang out”. Often, on a Saturday or Sunday, they will announce, “We’re just chilling today.” What is that? I think. I’ve got things to do.

“Just sit on the couch, Mum.”

I sit, thinking of the never-ending job list.

“What do I do now?” I ask.

“Have a chat,” they say. “Then we’ll make coffee.”

Next thing, they have produced a jigsaw. Really? That idle, slow occupation where the mind is distracted enough to forget about the list but focused in a relaxed way on something sort of meaningless. It’s incredibly restful. And companionable.

They love the warmth and the flash bathroom that was idly awaiting guests, and they are boys who love a washing machine with a delicate cycle. But no doubt we are annoying at times. I am his mother, after all.

But it does make you wonder. Why on earth do we all live separately?

Am I destined for a retirement village, spending the sunset of my life in the company of other old people whose kids live in other towns or countries?

I recently visited a Pasifika home bursting with intergenerational life. For over 10 years, the fanau had cared for their bed-bound, aphasic, ancient kuia at home. When I said how amazing they had been, they responded, “We are blessed to have her.”

I’m not asking my kids to do that. But maybe this housing crisis is our opportunity to reconsider the way we live. Instagram keeps telling me that loneliness is one of the biggest health concerns in the Western world. Why are we not living near our loved ones?

I recently heard a great definition of aroha – about it being a bridge that reconnects the disconnected. I like the sound of that.

Lucy O’Hagan is a medical educator and specialist GP working in the Wellington region

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