My dad was a builder way back when. Built his home, lived in it, built another, etc.
The one most of us kids grew up and he died in was nice, but... “I always wished I had made the dining room 18-inches wider, etc.” And every so often a “I miss the sunroom we had on 45th Street.”
Although once the technology caught up, he was finally able to deal with the high water-table making the basement damp in spots during the spring.
I have a bunch of uncles on my mom’s side of the family that operated like that. They built beatiful homes. One of them was a perfectionist bricklayer and he would work 8 hours laying brick then 8 more hours minimum for a couple of years building his home. IIRC people thought it was weird that he had bricks inside AND outside. But the house he built was absolutely beautiful! Don’t know how my Aunt stood working in that cliset of a kitchen she had. I think maybe it was kind of a “woman cave” that she would ditch everyone in under the pretense of cooking. : )
Kind of like men will hide in the crapper for a little piece and quiet sometimes may e. Who knows? : )