The realities of the “running away to the forest” fantasy. 

I grew up in the Seattle area. 

Constant movement, traffic, rocky beaches, rain, coffee shops on every corner, and legendary art museums. 

I maintain that it was a great place to grow up. I had a fantastic time. Beautiful memories and a permanent attachment to that “hustle and bustle.”

Being a “city kid” was formative for me. Even once my family picked up and moved to the middle of nowhere, I stayed at a fast pace. I never slowed down to accommodate my new town. 

Shortly after we moved, I remember someone telling me, “We’re on island time here.” I didn’t get what it meant until someone pinned me as a “big-city-transplant” for walking too fast in a grocery store.

I’m so not kidding. 

Locals can sniff out the people who moved here like bloodhounds. It’s insane.

This is a pro/con type list. 

Let’s get into it. 

I miss anonymity. 

Things sound weird, so let me explain. 

Living in a big city, you’re unlikely to see the same person twice. Strangers don’t remember you. Everyone is weird and going about their own business. 

One thing I’ve really noticed is that small towns are gossip factories. 

I’m not a fan of that. 

I could never bring myself to try to weasel information out of people. I don’t particularly appreciate asking invasive questions. But when everyone knows everyone, word tends to get around. 

People ask many questions in small towns; once they do, everyone knows your answers. 

I miss no one giving a damn about me or who I was. You can’t mind your own business in a small town. 

I love being close to nature. 

I complain about my long commute because I grew up five minutes from literally everything I needed. Grocery store? Check. Starbucks? It’s around the corner. Park? There are two within walking distance. 

I could take a quick walk and hit a pet food store, a music shop, countless restaurants, clothing stores, boutiques… I’m getting nostalgic just thinking of the convenience. 

But despite my complaints, my commute leaves me breathless. 

Massive, expansive forests on either side of me. Mountains capped with snow in the distance. Deer, elk, moose, and coyotes are an everyday occurrence. It’s gorgeous. 

The air is clean, the trees are countless, and the deer live in my backyard. I can’t be mad about that. 

I miss the noise. 

I had terrible insomnia for ages when we first moved. 

I lived on a busy street, and the lack of noise was difficult to cope with.

I have lived here for over two years and still have to sleep with a noisemaker in my room.

It’s ridiculous. 

I love the casualness. 

There are two types of morning people in the town I live in. 

I can categorize them into groups. 

Group A: The Carhardt and overall crowd (aka the farmers.) 

Group B: The pajamas and sweatpants crowd (aka the not-farmers.)

I love working the opening shift at Starbucks because people stumble into the store at 5:00 a.m. I can almost instantly plant them into one of these groups. No one is dressed to impress. People are laid back.

I love that I can march into work in cargo pants and a t-shirt, and people tell me I look “dressed up.” It’s hilarious. 

I miss architecture. 

Remember that I am an artist while I go on this tangent. 

I miss skyscrapers. I miss unique buildings. I am not even kidding when I say I miss graffiti. 

Where I am, a stunning number of buildings are just warehouses. There are only a few buildings above two stories. 

I miss looking up to see the world. Not forward. 

We drove to the closest city a few weeks ago (not big, but not tiny), and I almost cried tears of joy when I saw a building with an elevator.

Sigh. 

Buildings.

I love the community. 

This contradicts my earlier point about anonymity, but I don’t care. 

Last summer, there were fires. 

Like big, stupid, crazy fires. Several of my coworker’s houses burned to the ground. Dogs died. It was devastating.

The other employees at the stores in the area all pooled together to make a week of meals for each victim. They bought pajamas in everyone’s sizes. Toothbrushes. Toiletries. Blankets. Anything that could be comforting.

It was so contradictory to “maintaining a respectful distance” that it took me off guard. 

But it was sweet. And it stuck with me. 

I miss the ocean. 

Deep down in my heart, I am still the same kid who desperately wanted to be a marine biologist because I loved the ocean with such a passion. 

I miss the waterfront. 

I miss seals. I miss seagulls. I miss porpoises and sea lions and the aquarium and the marine conservation. I miss it wholeheartedly because it was the thing I loved most. 

Leaving the waterfront felt like leaving my best friend behind. 

As ridiculous as that sounds, I miss the beach more than almost anything else.

I love that my parents are living their dreams. 

This is the big one. 

My parents have wanted to homestead for as long as I can remember. 

The fact that they get to do it? That’s been amazing. 

And really, no matter how much I miss the city, I am still glad they are living their dream. Maybe my dream will take me back to the city. 

But honestly? 

If it does, I know I will miss the “small town life.” 

As a wise person once said, “the grass is always greener on the other side.”