7 ways I spend a weekend that make me feel rich (even without spending much)

We live in a world that equates wealth with accumulation -- of things, experiences, even followers.

For years, I bought into that idea. I thought feeling rich meant having more: a better kitchen, a longer vacation, a fancier dress.

But somewhere between raising two sons, paying bills, and realizing that happiness doesn’t arrive in a designer shopping bag, I discovered a gentler truth.

Feeling rich has less to do with your bank balance and more to do with your bandwidth for joy. It’s about slowing down enough to savor what you already have.

The older I get, the more I crave moments that stretch time, not money. I like weekends that feel textured, full of small, sensory pleasures that remind me I’m alive, capable, and lucky to be here.

Here are seven ways I spend a weekend that make me feel rich, even when I hardly spend anything at all.

1. I wander through open houses I could never afford

I have a small ritual on Saturday mornings. I’ll grab an oat milk latte from my favorite café, slip on my most “put-together but casual” outfit, and stroll through a neighborhood where the houses look like they belong in a Nancy Meyers movie.

Sometimes I even step inside an open house or two. I smile politely at the realtor, pretend I’m “just looking,” and quietly absorb the atmosphere: the marble countertops, the curated bookshelves, the faint scent of vanilla diffusers.

It isn’t envy. It’s imagination. I love picturing what kind of lives unfold inside those spaces, like children doing homework at that grand kitchen island, someone reading under that perfect bay window, a couple laughing over breakfast in that sunlit nook.

Maybe it all sounds silly, but it makes me think creatively about beauty and comfort.

Sometimes I go home and rearrange my living room, or add a small touch that gives me the same feeling: a cozy throw, a new candle, fresh flowers from the market.

The joy isn’t in owning the house. It’s in realizing that inspiration doesn’t need a down payment.

2. I host a low-key dinner that feels high-end

Nothing makes me feel wealthier than gathering people I love around a table that looks beautiful, even if the food came from one pot.

I’ll light a few candles, cue up a jazz playlist, and pour wine into our mismatched glasses. The menu is always simple, maybe pasta aglio e olio or roast chicken with whatever vegetables are in the fridge.

I think of it as “casual luxury.” The kind that isn’t about showing off, but about presence. When people linger at the table long after dessert is gone, when laughter overlaps with the clinking of plates, that’s the good stuff.

Once, we hosted a dinner where the power went out mid-meal. Instead of panicking, we lit every candle we had and continued talking in the flickering glow. It turned out to be one of the most memorable nights we’ve had.

Elegance doesn’t come from perfect lighting or expensive wine. It comes from care, the intention to make an ordinary evening feel special.

3. I browse thrift shops like I’m on a treasure hunt

Thrift stores are my personal adventure zones. I never know what I’ll find.

For instancee, I've come across a wool coat with a forgotten theater ticket in the pocket, a stack of old cookbooks, and a mug with a chip that makes it oddly endearing. Every object feels like a breadcrumb from someone else’s story.

There’s a kind of quiet magic in finding beauty among the discarded. I think it taps into that same satisfaction children feel when they discover seashells on a beach. It’s not about possession, but discovery.

4. I spend a few hours at a museum or art gallery

Even the smallest local museum can feel like a portal. I’ll wander through quiet halls, pausing in front of paintings that stop me mid-step. Sometimes I’ll read every little plaque, sometimes I’ll just stand there, letting color and form wash over me.

It feels indulgent to spend time looking, really looking, without the pressure to produce or consume.

Plus, there’s something deeply calming about being surrounded by beauty that serves no immediate purpose. It resets my brain. Suddenly, my to-do list feels less urgent. The world feels larger and more layered.

Art reminds me that abundance isn’t always visible. It can exist in imagination, in emotion, in the shared silence of a gallery filled with strangers.

5. I take a long scenic drive with no destination

Some weekends, I just get in the car and drive. No errands, no itinerary. I pick a direction, roll the windows down, and let the road decide where I end up.

Sometimes I drive to the hills outside the city, sometimes to a nearby coastal road where the air smells like salt and possibility.

There’s something about the motion, the changing scenery, the soundtrack of wind and music that creates a sense of freedom. It makes me feel wealthy in time, and time, to me, is the rarest kind of wealth.

On one such drive, I stumbled upon a tiny roadside café with handwritten signs and homemade pie. I ended up chatting with the owner, who told me she’d opened it “for the joy of it.” That phrase stuck with me. Doing something simply for joy is one of the richest choices a person can make.

6. I recreate a “vacation morning” at home

If you’ve ever woken up on the first day of a vacation, you know that feeling — the mix of freedom, possibility, and slowness.

I try to recreate that at least once a weekend. I’ll make an indulgent breakfast, maybe pancakes with fresh fruit, and eat it outside while the sun is still gentle. I’ll play ambient music, leave my phone inside, and resist any urge to plan.

It’s amazing how quickly my body recognizes that slower rhythm. I feel more present, more aware of the taste of my coffee and the sound of birds.

The essence of luxury isn’t always tied to where you are, but how you inhabit the moment. The rich don’t rush through breakfast. They savor it. And so can we.

7. I spend a few hours making something with my hands

Sundays are for creation. And I try to have some variety. Painting, baking bread, arranging flowers — anything that transforms simple materials into something beautiful.

When I paint, the world narrows down to color and movement. When I bake, it becomes scent and texture. It’s the opposite of the endless scrolling that fills time but not the soul.

There’s a deep satisfaction in seeing tangible proof of your effort. That’s what creativity does. It reminds us that abundance begins in our own hands.

Final thoughts

Feeling rich and abundant doesn't really require a credit card swipe. It just calls for attention, curiosity, and a willingness to savor.

Whether I’m wandering through homes I’ll never own, or making art in my study, I’m practicing a kind of everyday affluence, one measured in moments, not money.

We often chase wealth as a destination, but I’ve learned it’s a way of seeing. When you treat time, connection, and imagination as luxuries, your life begins to feel more spacious.

The truth is, I already live richly. Most of us do. We just have to notice it.