• Every December, I travel with my mother-in-law and wife. This year, we took a trip to Charleston.
• Encouraging my mother-in-law to help plan led us to experiences we wouldn't have found on our own.
• We built the days around what she could handle and took turns picking activities and restaurants.

My wife, Cece, moved from Texas to Australia 12 years ago, but we still head back to the US every Christmas.

While we're home, the two of us take a trip with her mother, Liz. Liz's partner, Pete, doesn't like to travel, so this annual December trip is her primary holiday.

In the past, we've headed to Nashville, Seattle, and Washington DC. At the end of last year, we spent four days in Charleston and had a wonderful trip.

We picked activities at Liz's pace and took turns choosing experiences

Over the years, we've learned that Liz enjoys a trip more when she can help shape it rather than just show up for it. So before heading to Charleston, I had a visitor's brochure mailed to her in Texas.

The day it arrived, she called with a list of things she had already researched and wanted to try, including a Gullah Geechee tour to learn about the history and culture of the descendants of enslaved Africans who settled along the Carolina coast.

Bus and walking tours were available, and we chose the bus even though I would've preferred the latter.

It was important for us to consider what would be most sustainable for my 75-year-old mother-in-law when booking activities. Riding the bus meant Liz could arrive at lunch with energy instead of blisters.

Throughout the trip, we also took turns selecting activities so no one felt left out. My choice was a cocktail-making class, which is also indoors and offers plenty of seating.

Liz drinks a little but would never have thought to book a class like this herself, which is another perk of taking turns: You get to try things you never thought you would.

The class ended up being just the three of us at a bar with a 25-year-old instructor. We learned how the Old Fashioned got its name, what makes a good bartender, and that Liz pours generously. Her first attempt overflowed.

By the third round, Liz was jiggling the shaker like a professional and informing us she was keeping up with "the young kids."

The instructor even invited her behind the bar. She posed for the camera, and we sent the video straight to Pete. He replied: "Oh boy. She's really loving this."

Liz also chose for us to visit the Charleston City Market, a stretch of local vendors and artists that has been running for centuries.

We'd planned to stop for an hour and stayed for over two as Liz watched sweetgrass baskets being woven, bought Christmas ornaments, and talked to every artisan who'd stand still long enough.

I walked ahead and checked my watch several times, but tried to stay patient. Liz had taken a whole cocktail-making class she'd never have picked herself, so two hours at the market felt fair.

Each of us got to choose a meal, too

Over our four days, we each picked a meal to share. Liz chose Lewis BBQ, partly because it's run by a fellow Texan, which she felt was a good sign.

She takes barbecue seriously, and the brisket was the real test. Her wide post-bite smile told me the barbecue had passed.

I took us to Southern restaurant Poogan's Porch one night so we could order shrimp and grits, something I'd never tried.

Cece chose to get breakfast on our last morning at Callie's Hot Little Biscuits. We ordered a range of sweet and savory bites, and Cece and I managed to take down one biscuit each.

Liz had two and a half and immediately bought a box to take home.

In the end, a few things made the trip work

Encouraging my mother-in-law to plan from Texas meant she arrived at our destination already invested with ideas we'd never have found on our own.

Picking activities at a pace that suited everyone, like the Gullah Geechee bus tour and the cocktail-making class, meant no one was worn out by dinner — and taking turns meant nobody got dragged through someone else's idea of fun for too long.

At the end of the trip, Liz flew home to San Antonio with biscuits, cocktail recipes, and Christmas ornaments. Her partner said she looked like she was having the time of her life in the photos and videos we sent, though the cocktails are still a work in progress.

We've already begun planning this December's trip, so I should probably send a new brochure to Liz soon.

• My wife and I moved to New York City with hopes of building a vibrant community.
• When my son was born, our priorities shifted, and we eyed a house near my in-laws in Delaware.
• We left New York City behind and couldn't be happier.

Two years before our son was born, my partner, Liv, and I moved to New York City to immerse ourselves in the city that never sleeps. She was working full-time and pursuing a master's degree at Columbia, while I was figuring out what it meant to be human after I quit my tech job.

We dreamed of the community and opportunity that awaited us in that glorious place of concrete and glass. After the loneliness COVID brought, I fantasized that we'd meet other adults who shared enough of our values to create a tight community in New York City, one that was more than just friends.

But everything changed after our son was born.

We moved to New York City to live our dream life

My sister-in-law, her boyfriend, and a handful of friends already lived in New York City. The region's high population density came with the promise of new close relationships.

Within six weeks, we sold our house in suburban Maryland and moved into a New York City apartment, sight unseen.

Living in NYC is like gripping life's volume knob with both hands and cranking it up past the breaking point. The city offers an unmatched variety of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feelings to the privileged people who can afford it.

Some nights over the next year, I sat on our windowsill, admiring the twinkling cityscape teeming with life. I was making new friends, but I wasn't seeing a path to the fantastical relationships with other adults that I thought would come easily.

The question of whether or not to expand our biological family also hung heavily in my mind.

After an errand to the Financial District, I shared a transformative conversation with a tourist couple from rural Germany. We talked about their children, and I revealed my ambivalence about having my own.

The man's response was warm and adamant: Having children is the best. There's never going to be a right time. Just do it.

We hugged, took a selfie, and parted ways. Six months later, having learned countless lessons from the city and its people, Liv was pregnant with our first child.

Our priorities shifted after the birth of our son

Shortly after our son was born and I became a stay-at-home dad, our family reached a decision point. We could not afford to live in New York City and enjoy our preferred lifestyle. We needed more space and more help.

A house in my in-laws' neighborhood was put up for sale at an attractive price. Liv's desire burned for this home and the comfort of neighbor-parents, but I was unconvinced. Leaving my community and moving to Slower Lower Delaware felt like a massive downgrade.

As our son's eyes opened and he began to crawl, my priorities shifted toward my growing family. Whenever my mother-in-law trekked up to the city to help with childcare, I felt rested and loved. If we moved, her love and nurturing spirit would be just down the road.

I chose to be excited about the move, focusing on the reasons it felt good, like the familial help, lower financial pressure, and quieter calm.

We bought the house and moved after our son's first birthday.

An unexpected step toward a dream come true

I am fortunate enough to both love and like my family, including the family I inherited from Liv. With this type of love comes a web of commitment to the well-being of all members of our system. Societal norms make the depth of this commitment far more accessible to family than it is to friends.

In an alternate universe, there's a version of myself whose hyperlocal community consists of friends and family, where our children have sprawling chosen families and roam freely between homes. In this imaginary village, shops and services are walkable, and what we make transcends money. I thought we might make this happen in New York City. Maybe it can for others, but it didn't for me.

Perhaps that idealized universe is actually this one, only set a few years in the future. The open-door policy we happily share with my in-laws is a part of the dream made real.