Zac Efron has been traveling around the world frequently since he shot to fame, both for work and leisure. Still, he kept living in California, where he was born and raised. However, it all suddenly changed after he chose to spend some time abroad and he realized he needed to change the way he lived in order to find true happiness.
He lived most of his life in the United States.
Originally from San Luis Obispo, in California, Zac Efron spent the majority of his life in the United States, having grown up close to the heart of Hollywood. Despite this, his parents were never involved in the entertainment business. Still, he took his first steps into that world early on in his life. His journey in acting and singing began during his time at Arroyo Grande High School in the early 2000s, with a drama teacher playing a pivotal role in connecting him to an agent.
After he achieved success with teen flicks like the High School Musical trilogy and 17 Again(2009), he shifted into more dramatic roles in films such as The Greatest Showman(2017) and, more recently, Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile(2019). It was this ever-growing filmography that allowed him to amass a net worth of around $25 million and gave him the opportunity to purchase a mansion in Los Feliz, Los Angeles, in 2013. He lived there for seven years until he no longer felt like it was the right place for him.
So, what happened to Zac Efron to make him change his mind? Keep reading to find out.
His L.A. house had everything to offer, but ultimately it wasn’t enough.
The 36-year-old actor put his Los Feliz home up for sale in December, 2020, and the listing made public the house’s astounding features. The property, which is nestled against the Hollywood Hills and located in a prestigious neighborhood filled with plenty of celebrity residents, offers breathtaking views, accentuated by walls of glass, terraces, and numerous outdoor spaces that offer panoramic vistas of the city below.
With five bedrooms and five bathrooms within its 5.455-square-foot layout, the main level includes a living area, dining room, chef’s kitchen adjoining a family room, and a master suite with a spa-like bathroom. But that’s not all!
Additionally, it has three bedrooms with bathrooms downstairs, along with a separate one-bedroom, one-bath guesthouse. It also features amenities such as a gym, media room, game room and security cameras, and the outdoor space includes view decks suitable for outdoor dining and lounging.
So, with all its potential, it wasn’t shocking that it sold in only a few months, in spite of the hefty price tag. In May 2021, the house sold for $5.3 million. Albeit below the initial asking price of $5.9 million, it still marks a profitable venture for Efron, as he paid around $4 million when he first purchased the property.
He fell in love with a different country.
In 2020, Efron made a move that had a deep impact on him — he relocated to Byron Bay, Australia. Back then, he still owned the Los Feliz mansion, so many thought it was just a temporary home. The fact that he lived out of a van, before buying a property in the Australian beachside town also led many to believe nothing much could come of the move.
However, he shot the second season of his Netflix documentary series Down to Earththere, which allowed him to spend over a year with the Aussies. Eventually, he did return to the US to enjoy quality time with his family, but it wasn’t long before he was once again on Australian ground. This time, it was to shoot Ricky Stanicky, a movie in which he co-stars with John Cena and that has yet to have a set date for its debut.
But a special situation might have sealed the deal for his ever-growing bond with the country. Shortly after he moved to Australia, Efron found love. He met Vanessa Valladares, a waitress at the Byron Bay General Store & Cafe, in June 2020. They began dating and eventually spent Christmas and New Year’s together in Australia. Although the couple has since called it quits, the relationship might have been the final trigger of Efron’s decision to move permanently from the US, as he then put his L.A. home on the market.
Finally, a source close to the actor revealed in January 2021, that Efron already considered Australia “home.”
The actor doesn’t think Hollywood is a healthy place to live in.
The actor had previously expressed his intention to move out of Hollywood, though, and it was precisely in a scene from Down to Earth. In the fourth episode, he candidly shared his desire to move away from the Hollywood scene and the lifestyle associated with it, and emphasized that it didn’t contribute in any way to a “long, happy, mentally-sound life.”
Curiously, what happened to Zac Efron also happened to Chris Hemsworth, in which both actors made the decision to move to Australia so they could distance themselves from the hecticness of Hollywood. Although Hemsworth himself is Australian, his mindset was similar to that of Efron.
In 2016, Hemsworth, known for his role as Thor in several Marvel movies, relocated his family from Los Angeles to Byron Bay. The 40-year-old similarly expressed a wish to escape the suffocating nature of being constantly surrounded by the entertainment industry. Opting for a more tranquil lifestyle, as of 2023, he and his family reside in a $20 million mega-mansion in Byron Bay’s hinterland, which they view as a healthier environment for their children to grow up in.
People often also wonder what happened to Zac Efron when it comes to his new appearance. His face changed considerably throughout the years but the drastic change isn’t down to plastic surgery. According to him, it’s because of an accident where he almost died.
Preview photo credit zacefron / Instagram, zacefron / Instagram
Living Across from a Cemetery, I Saw a Baby Left by One of the Graves on Halloween Night
Now, those days were long gone, but I still cherished the traditions. Each year, I decorated my house with cobwebs, pumpkins, and spooky lights, and waited for the neighborhood kids to come trick-or-treating. It brought a little light into my otherwise quiet life.
Just two years ago, I had walked the same streets with my daughter, holding her tiny hand as we went door to door. It feels like a distant dream now, a beautiful memory that slipped away too soon. Losing her shattered me, and it broke my marriage with John as well. We couldn’t find a way to heal, and we drifted apart under the weight of our grief.
That night, after handing out candy for hours, I realized my bowl was empty. With a sigh, I hung a “No More Treats” sign on the door. A familiar ache settled in my chest—the kind that never fully goes away.
My house stood directly across from a cemetery, a place that unnerved most people. It didn’t bother me. The rent was cheap, and I’d never been one to believe in ghosts. I made myself a cup of cocoa and sat by the window, half-expecting to see some teenagers playing pranks among the gravestones.
But what I saw instead made my heart skip a beat. Near one of the graves was what looked like a baby car seat. I blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light, but the shape didn’t waver.
I grabbed my coat and hurried outside, the chilly October air biting at my skin. The cemetery was eerily still as I walked closer to the grave, every step filled with dread. When I finally reached it, my breath caught in my throat. There, in the car seat, was a tiny baby, fast asleep.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, kneeling down to pick her up. She was so small, completely unaware of the cold night air around her. “How did you get here?” I asked softly, knowing there would be no answer. I held her close and rushed back to the house.
Once inside, I laid her gently on the couch and noticed a note taped to her car seat. With trembling hands, I unfolded it. The note read, “Amanda, one and a half years old.”
That was all. No phone number, no explanation. Just a name. I searched the car seat for more information, but there was nothing. I looked down at Amanda, who stirred slightly, and felt my heart twist. What was I going to do with her?
Without thinking, I called the police. They listened as I explained the situation, but when they told me there were no reports of a missing child, frustration bubbled inside me. Still, they asked me to bring her in.
At the station, Amanda sat quietly in her car seat, her wide eyes gazing up at me as though she already trusted me. When the officers said she’d be placed in the care of social services, a sudden surge of protectiveness washed over me.
“Can she stay with me, at least for now?” I asked, my voice steady though my heart raced.
After hours of paperwork and background checks, they agreed. Amanda was coming home with me.
The days that followed were a blur of bottles, diapers, and sleepless nights. It had been so long since I’d taken care of a little one, but it all came back to me piece by piece. Every morning, I bought her toys, read her stories, and watched as her giggles filled the quiet spaces of my house. She became the light I didn’t know I needed.
It wasn’t always easy—some nights, her cries were impossible to soothe. But even in those difficult moments, I found joy. Amanda had filled the void in my heart, a place that had been empty for so long. The more time we spent together, the more attached I became.
One morning, as I fed Amanda breakfast, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a police officer standing with an elderly woman by his side.
“Jessica,” the officer said gently. “This is Amanda’s grandmother, Carol. She’s here to take her back.”
My heart sank. Amanda had become so much a part of me that the thought of letting her go felt unbearable. But Carol was her family. I had no right to keep her.
Carol stepped forward, smiling warmly. “Hello, sweetie,” she said, reaching for Amanda. Every instinct in me screamed to hold on, but I slowly handed her over.
The moment Amanda left my arms, she started to cry. Her little hands reached for me, and it was like a dagger to my heart. Tears stung my eyes as I watched her go, but I knew I had no choice.
Before leaving, Carol handed me a basket and thanked me for taking care of Amanda. As soon as they were gone, I collapsed on the couch, tears flowing freely. It felt like I had lost my daughter all over again.
Later that night, I stared at the basket, too heartbroken to eat. Something nagged at me, though. I picked up the thank-you note Carol had left and read it again. The handwriting looked familiar.
My heart raced as I ran to my room and grabbed the note that had been left with Amanda’s car seat. Holding the two side by side, a chill ran down my spine. The handwriting was the same. Carol had abandoned Amanda at the cemetery.
Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time.
“John, hi,” I said, my voice shaking.
“Jess?” he sounded surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “I need your help.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, his voice firm.
John arrived in under twenty minutes. I told him everything—about Amanda, the cemetery, and Carol’s deception. He listened quietly, and when I finished, he asked the question I’d been dreading.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to take her back,” I said, my voice strong with conviction. “Amanda belongs with me.”
John nodded, and from that moment, we worked together. It was a long battle—endless meetings with lawyers and tense confrontations with Carol—but we didn’t give up. Weeks later, we stood in court, ready to fight for Amanda’s future.
Carol broke down on the stand, admitting that she had left Amanda at the cemetery because she could no longer care for her. The court revoked her custody, and I was granted temporary guardianship—with the possibility of adoption.
As I walked out of the courthouse, Amanda resting peacefully in my arms, I couldn’t stop smiling. She was mine, and I would do everything in my power to keep her safe and loved.
John walked beside us, his expression calm but content. “You’re going to be an amazing mom to her,” he said softly.
I smiled at him, my heart full of gratitude. “Thank you, John. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
As we walked away from the courthouse, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Halloween had always been special to me, but now it meant something even greater—it brought Amanda into my life.
And perhaps, just maybe, it was bringing John back into it, too.
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