hippie farmI don’t want to live in New York City.

There. I said it.

It seems to me that every smart young twenty-something I meet has this elusive goal to someday live in Manhattan and work for a bank or a tech start-up or an art gallery and make their mark on the scene. Maybe this is just a recent trend thanks to HBO’s Girls bringing renewed attention to the post-grad, pre-adult life. But, pop culture reminds me that the dream of living and working in NYC goes back many, many years to the days before my parents and their artsy friends occupied the city.

The vibe has shifted from hippie to hipster over the decades, but at no point did the aura of the urban island appeal to me.

Can you live in a second tier city and not feel like you’re missing out?

Can we each be content with our small lives wrapped up like Christmas presents, red bow and all?

Is it even acceptable to admit that you might want to move to the suburbs one day? That New Haven or Northern Virginia doesn’t sound all that awful?

I don’t want to settle for a life that is less than extraordinary, but why must we young people live in a too-loud-too-bright, tree-less metropolis to be considered “fulfilled”?

Can we all go live on a farm somewhere in the ex-urbs and raise cows and drink milk and sew baskets and have babies and read books and sit and talk and care about the people around us?

I’d totally do that in a second – as long as I could bring my iPhone.

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