Sometimes I Dream of Life Outside the City
But I won't be packing my bags anytime soon
Sometimes I dream of a life outside the city. Especially lately, as it’s been over six months since we last escaped the hustle and bustle of Paris.
I’ve always identified as a “city person”- thriving on the chaos, energy, and endless exploration that city life offers.
Austin and Paris are the only places I’ve truly called home—each a city in its own right, each shaping a part of me. Even in my travels, I’ve mostly ventured to other cities, instinctively pulled toward their food scenes, design culture, and their creative sense of place.
But lately, during our morning walks to school—navigating crosswalks, weaving through crowded sidewalks, and managing (yet another) toddler tantrum amidst the clamor of Parisian streets—I can’t help but long for something slower. An environment with a bit more breathing room.
I’ll admit…despite calling Paris home, my daily rhythm is, in many ways, already quite slow.
Mornings begin gently: getting our daughter ready for school, stopping by a neighborhood café with my husband and toddler, and then easing into my work day, which usually consists of a few focused hours (four or so at most) woven between toddler nap time and the errands that inevitably fill the gaps.
Some days, I find myself at the library, like I am now as I write this. Other days, I attempt to work from our dining room table, only to be interrupted every thirty minutes or so by our little one, tugging at me for some attention (which I always gladly accept.)
The pace of my life in this season is slow. But the surroundings for which my life is unfolding is not.
There’s small moments throughout my days where the fantasy of a less hectic environment entices me- seemingly a bit more each day.
And while I miss few things from our previous life in Austin, there are certain elements I miss more than I anticipated. Certain things I hadn’t even realized mattered to me until they were no longer part of my day-to-day. Typical, right?
I miss looking out every window and seeing trees. I miss our daughter running free in the yard with the neighbor’s kids. I miss not having to remind the kids-every two minutes—to stop sprinting down the hallway of our Haussmannian apartment (Sorry, neighbors. We really are trying!) I miss having a house that truly feels like a home. Our home.
I find myself seeking a solitude that solely seems to exist within the walls of the library. I crave to walk outside without being on constant alert. And while I’ve become a master at tuning out the noise (a skill many mothers inevitably acquire), I can’t seem to escape the relentless hum of construction, traffic, and the ever-present buzz of city life.
And yet, I find myself so committed to this way of living. Telling myself that I would be “bored” anywhere else. That I wouldn’t be happy. That my curiosity would dull, and my desire to explore would go unmet.
But most of all, I seem to have this (false) belief that an “exciting” life can only unfold in the confines of a city like Paris. That a life worth living must be rooted in places with names that carry weight—Paris, New York, London, or some other major metropolis.
That if I were to pick up and move our family (yet again) to a place that didn’t hold the pedigree of Paris that I would somehow be failing myself and my children. That I would be depriving them of cultural opportunities and experiences that they are so lucky to have at their doorstep.
As I sit here reflecting on those words—words I still believe to be true at least in some capacity—I can’t help but wonder if big city life is depriving us of something more essential. Part of me feels like it is.
These questions have been circling in my mind lately, tying into a broader theme I’ve been exploring: the idea of dedication and commitment in a world that’s always in browsing mode.
Why this constant craving for entertainment? Why the persistent need for something new?
I notice the pattern everywhere—not just in where I choose to live, but in how I engage with technology, how I approach my work. This forever pull toward busyness and the next thing. The lure of entertainment over presence. Novelty over depth.
This desire for constant novelty—this browsing-mode mentality—has made me reflect more deeply on the environments we choose to live in and how they inherently shape our daily lives.
I’ve always been fascinated by the relationship between place and well-being. You’ve probably seen the research, or maybe the Netflix show Blue Zones, which explores how the places we call home influence our longevity, happiness, and overall quality of life.
And from personal experience, I can say it’s true: Our move from Austin to Paris shifted everything. Our quality of life improved in subtle but powerful ways: walking almost everywhere, shopping for thoughtfully sourced food from small neighborhood spots (without the high price tags), and forming a deeper sense of connection—to family, to friends, and even to the familiar faces we pass daily in our little corner of the city.
It’s for all of these reasons that I do love living here.
While this reflection may read like a critique of Paris or city life, it’s not meant to be. It’s simply a transparent account of where I am right now. Of how I can be deeply grateful to live here, and still wonder if we might be even happier somewhere else.
I don’t believe there is any right or wrong choice. Like everything in life, the “right” answer lies within our personal preferences, priorities and values, with pros and cons always intertwined. The perfect choice does not exist.
And it’s a dangerous game to play—the game of “the grass is always greener on the other side.” There’s a fine line between genuinely questioning from an authentic place, and obsessively searching for an escape from where you’re at now. Depriving yourself of the preciousness of presence.
So no, we’re not packing our bags anytime soon. But I am listening closely to this quiet pull within me—the one asking for more peace, more spaciousness, more connection.
And maybe that doesn’t mean uprooting our life. Maybe it just means making space for small shifts: more weekend escapes, exploring more vast green spaces beyond the city limits, and yes—even carving out more time for quiet mornings at the library.
A bit more calm within the chaos.
I know I’m not alone in feeling this way, so I’d love to hear from you: If you live in the city and want to move, what keeps you tethered to city life? If you moved from the city to a smaller town, how did you find your experience?
As always, thank you for reading.
Until next week,
The Inspired Paris Retreat details and application are going out to the waitlist TOMORROW! I am keeping the group extremely limited for maximum connection and comfort, so if you’re interested in joining, I’d recommend jumping on this list:)
I actually have a reverse of your experience. I grew up in the country and every time I’ve found myself living in a city I feel my nervous system getting overwhelmed slowly but steadily. This probably has to do with personality type and being used to quite nights with crickets instead of cars but I am lucky to live within driving distance to the fun of a city.
This (as always) resonated with me so much! Things change so much when you have children. We lived in Berlin, a city I love and has a lot of young families but sometimes not the cleanest city (and veeery cold, of course) we came back to Spain to my family home in the countryside and now we are deciding our next move into the city, but it’s proving to be challenging. We both are city people but find the slower, cleaner pace to be so much better for the little one. I think the answer is to do what previous generations did back when it was affordable: rent an apartment in the city and own a house in the countryside… isn’t that the dream??