
You know you’ve fantasized about it at least once during the pandemic. Instead of sitting in your shoebox apartment staring longingly at the one tree outside, hoping for a visit from the fire escape pigeon, you could be surrounded by tons of non-rat birds and chipmunks and deer that greet you every day with their morning sounds like you’re goddamn Cinderella. No need to mask up when you step outside, because no one’s around for miles. Sure, there’s something creepy about that, too, but way more murders happen in the city, and hey, you know krav maga, right?
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I think we can all admit we’ve spent the occasional evening or weekend during this strange time scouring Zillow for quaint cottages just a few hours outside the city. Like, you’re not seriously considering moving, but this one place is so cheap and was just renovated, and your job’s likely going to be remote for the foreseeable future, so would it really be THAT much of an inconvenience? And YOU’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF THIS CROWDED, OVERPRICED CESSPOOL!
Before you call that real estate agent, take some deep breaths and look at this pro/con list of moving to the country to help you make a rational decision.
Pro: No more ambient city light that somehow even penetrates blackout blinds.
Con: You finally understand what pitch black means, and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night is now like the part of every horror movie where things start to go very, very wrong.
Pro: Sirens, car horns, construction, and college kids drunkenly screaming about TikTok are no longer your daily (and nightly) soundtrack.
Con: It is so deafeningly quiet that you start to hate the sound of your own inhales and exhales. Oh, and you can now hear bugs scurrying around like you’re some kind of vampire.
Pro: Peaceful sunrises and sunsets. You can actually see the stars.
Con: No cell reception to immediately post proof on the ’gram that you witnessed said sunrises and sunsets and stars.
Pro: MUCH cheaper cost of living.
Con: All conveniences, including toilet paper, are more than 10 miles away and run by people who feel it’s their constitutional right to question you about every facet of your personal business.
Pro: Your morning coffee/Twitter scroll is blessed by a confluence of glorious birdsong.
Con: None of those birds know what Seamless is or where you can get lo mein at 3 a.m.
Pro: The soothing sounds of rushing water lull you to sleep.
Con: There’s a 50/50 chance those sounds are all your toilets and shower drains overflowing because your septic tank backed up.
Pro: Adorable antique stores with one-of a-kind relics owned by sweet little old ladies with stories to tell.
Con: No one in town is single or under 50. Or has heard of Tinder.
Pro: Your house is now the vacation destination for all your friends.
Con: Your house is now the vacation destination for all your friends.
Pro: No more freakishly large cockroaches to contend with.
Con: Every other creepy bug you can imagine are now your roommates, and none of them have boundaries. Or the ability to pay rent on time.
Pro: Now that you have property, you can walk around outside naked anytime you want, day or night.
Con: So can your 82-year-old hermit neighbor, Bob, and he’s had practice, so he’s far more exuberant about it.
Pro: You can take a hike just by stepping outside your door.
Con:So can the five bears that live nearby, and they don’t need GPS to find the waterfall you’ve been looking for.
Pro: You can finally have a real garden with legitimately sized fruits and vegetables.
Con: As soon as any of your plants bear fruit, some random woodland creature will eat it and stare defiantly into your soul while they do.
Pro: No more rancid city summer smell that’s like dead bodies were liquified and left to marinate in a puddle of radioactive sludge.
Con: The minute you try to take a deep breath outside, one of your bug roommates will fly up your nose or mouth, and it won’t be coming out again.
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