A House of Mirrors I recently stayed in a home that could be mistaken for a private resort—floor-heated ceramic tiles, six vehicles in a spotless garage, panoramic mountain views, and more square footage than I’d ever know what to do with. The kind of house that turns heads and tempts envy. But after the initial awe faded, I felt something unexpected: detachment. Not because the house wasn’t stunning—it absolutely was—but because within days, the experience of living in it became routine. I still drank my coffee, checked emails, made phone calls, exercised, and read books. The backdrop had changed, but the rhythm of life had not. That realization was powerful: the material upgrade did very little to upgrade me. The…
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