Is hosting low-key the best part of house swapping?

I’ve done a half-dozen house swaps by now, and if you’ve ever been within a 10-foot radius of me at a dinner party (or, anywhere, really, who am I kidding), I’ve probably tried to sell you on the concept.

Everyone nods, wide-eyed, when I talk about the places we’ve stayed (Tuscany, Paris, Amsterdam) at the prices we’ve paid (astonishingly low). But then comes the inevitable: “Wait—you let people stay in your house?”

Oh, yes. We let people sleep in our beds, thumb through our cookbooks, watch our television, and eat our New York City bagels (well, the bagels we sliced and froze just for them). It’s amazing.

Believe me, I had all the usual misgivings: What if they break something? Is our house too cluttered? Clean enough? Does it say, “Come on in,” or, “We have two children and a shoe situation”? (Answer: Yes to both.)

We took the leap anyway. Now, three years and six trips later, I can say with certainty: Hosting is not merely something you get used to. It’s something you grow to love. And that’s because of the people.

A Parisian family was surprised to find authentic baguettes in Cobble Hill’s French bakeries. They used our list of NYC tips like a scavenger hunt, reporting back on their favorite parks and museums. When we came home, our home looked better than we left it. When our housekeeper showed up, she walked through the house amazed. She called me to say, “They mopped!” (Kindred arranges house cleanings, and will commission your usual housekeeper if you prefer. And, for the record, there’s no need to mop! I’ve never mopped!)

A Dutch couple’s kid cozied up in our kids’ bunk beds and built us a Lego thank-you sculpture. An art-loving Montreal family left behind a list of their favorite galleries in New York, plus fresh flowers. This summer, we’re hosting a fellow University of Michigan alum named Emily whose sisters live in our neighborhood. She reached out with a charming message that instantly made the swap feel less like “opening our home to strangers” and more like “sharing our place with a friend-of-a-friend.” And that’s how every swap has felt: grounded in actual human connection.

These travelers have gotten to know us through our home, as well as our hyper-personalized, borderline-bossy neighborhood guide. (“You have to walk through Brooklyn Bridge Park; this is not optional!”) We’ve gotten to know them through their kind gestures and messages. And we keep in touch: All of our house swap families are on our holiday card list.

These stories aren’t outliers. Kindred members respect your space because they know what it means to offer their own. They water the plants. They leave a thank you note (Kindred encourages this as a matter of course). They see your house not as a rental, but as a home. Because it is.

Now, when we leave town, I want someone to stay in our house. I’d prefer our home to be lived in and enjoyed (and yes, for the plants to be watered). I’ve learned that it’s not about being a “host” in the formal, folded-towel sense. (Although Kindred does provide towels in its hosting kit!) It’s about sharing your actual life. And having someone say: “We felt so at home here.”

The joy of travel is obvious. But the joy of hosting is quieter. It sneaks up on you. Hosting is sharing what you have — and being reminded that it’s more than enough. There’s a beautiful symmetry to it: While you are off having an adventure in a faraway home, another family is making memories in yours.

Hosting isn’t the cost of house swapping. It’s part of the gift.