Homes I Saw This Year That Still Cross My Mind

After seeing countless homes each year, most eventually blur together. But every so often, a few really stand out. 

Not because they were perfect. Often, it was the opposite.

There was the house in Millburn with the beautiful kitchen - not oversized or trendy, just simply stunning. The cabinets were a gorgeous earthy tone and the island had the most beautiful quartz top I’ve ever seen. It was the kind of kitchen where you could picture coffee brewing in the morning and friends lingering long after dinner. Everything was where it should be. It worked. It was beautiful in its simplicity. And that’s rarer than it sounds.

Then there was the home in Livingston with exceptional light. Windows everywhere. Morning sun, afternoon glow, the kind of brightness that makes an otherwise ordinary space feel calm and generous. It wasn’t captured that way in the photos, but you saw and felt it immediately. A house so bright, you need your shades. That house was pure sunshine.

I still think about the quirky details, too. A built-in bookshelf clearly designed for actual books (as a book lover,  that tugged at my heart). A slightly crooked stair rail worn smooth over decades. A breakfast nook that made no sense on paper but felt exactly right in real life.

And then there were the outdoor spaces. The backyards that felt like a true extension of the home. Not always grand or manicured, but always useful. I saw a home in Summit with a small patio that was positioned just right for the evening light. The backyard was also on the smaller side, but it was private without feeling closed in. It felt like a slow morning and a long conversation. Fresh air, quiet moments. Room to exhale. So very needed in our world today.

And yes, there were the terrible paint colors. Bold choices were made. Deep purples. Aggressive reds. A shade of green that horrified me. But even those homes had something going for them. Beneath the paint was good layout, solid construction, and real potential.

Some homes stood out because they were lovingly maintained. Others because they had great bones but needed vision. And a few because they reminded me that perfection is overrated. What really matters is how a home makes you feel when you walk through the door.

What always stays with me isn’t the price or the square footage. It’s the life inside the space. The way people used it. Loved it. Made it their own. The details that never make it into a listing description but matter the most.

As the year winds down, I find myself thinking less about transactions and more about those moments. Walking into a home and immediately understanding why someone chose it, and why they’re now ready for what’s next.

If you're buying or selling, it's worth remembering: the right home isn't always the most perfect one on paper. Sometimes it's the one that simply feels right.