New York or nowhere. It’s a T-shirt and an Instagram, but it was also my personal motto for most of my young life.
I was born in the Bronx, got my first post-college apartment in Queens, spent nearly a decade in a fifth-floor walk-up in Manhattan, and brought my first baby home to Brooklyn.
In high school and college, I spent time living in Connecticut, Poughkeepsie, and Scotland, but always felt the draw back to NYC.
By age 30, I’d spent most of my life in the city, and was living my own NYC dream working at a buzzy women’s media company.
I had never imagined living anywhere else. Then, I hit my breaking point.
After a reality check, I gave myself permission to leave New York
New York wasn’t just my city; it was a huge part of my identity.
However, I was burned out at my job, underpaid, and commuting hours on the subway between Manhattan and my shoebox of an apartment in Crown Heights.
I was paying a nanny most of my salary just so I could have the privilege of … not seeing my newborn.
After each day speed-editing dozens of articles and pumping breastmilk in a closet at the office, I would sprint to the subway at 7 p.m. in hopes of seeing my son while he was still awake.
I would never make it back in time. I’d kiss his sleeping face, pay the nanny, and cry.
By the time my son outgrew his bassinet and needed to transition to a crib, it became clear my tiny apartment was too small for us.
A crib and an adult bed didn’t fit in the space, so I gave the latter away and spent the last six months of my New York life sleeping on a bedroll on the floor.
And I finally gave myself permission to consider the impossible: leaving. I just wasn’t sure where to go next.
Nashville wasn’t the plan, but it was the answer
I knew I wanted to live in a city, but I needed somewhere cheaper (and way more chill) than New York.
I didn’t want to relive my teen years in the Connecticut suburbs, or even that blissful but too-quiet year in college when I lived on the coast of northern Scotland.
I wanted my son to grow up in a real community: walking to public school and the playground and pizza parlor like I did as a little kid in the Bronx. I wanted to take him to museums and music venues.
Soon, Nashville was on my radar — once I factored in my other wants, it seemed like the biggest, most diverse, most affordable city I could afford.
I told my employer I was moving, and that I could quit or they could let me go remote. They let me keep my job. I bought a four-bedroom house in East Nashville with a monthly mortgage that was close to half my rent in Brooklyn.
My new block had coffee shops, bars, a pharmacy, a pizza parlor, a bodega, and a vintage store that was also an art gallery that was also a music venue. So Brooklyn! I felt right at home.
Sure, at first everything felt … slow. I didn’t live near downtown, so the bustle dial was turned way down.
Initially, it was hard to sleep without sirens and shouting outside my window. But as the weeks turned into months, I started to notice I was breathing easier.
Nashville gave me more space — not just physical space (for a crib and a bed, imagine!) but space in my day that was no longer spent commuting, hauling a stroller up and down stairs, and rushing to the laundromat.
It gave me more accessible green spaces than New York had; my son and I could be out on a hike within 20 minutes, no Metro-North train ride necessary.
Without a long commute, I had time to make real dinners, to lounge on porches, and to get to know my neighbors. I made friends, joined a nonprofit, and started teaching yoga at the local studio.
I had the emotional space to date around casually and have fun.
When my son was 2 ½, I met one particular musician. He was calm but passionate, goofy but grounded, Southern polite but also punk rock. He loved my son.
By year five in Nashville, we were married. Year six, he adopted my son. That same year, our second son was born.
Moving was the best decision I was scared to make
There’s a common fear among people who leave big cities that we’re somehow giving up. I definitely felt it.
I worried that moving to a smaller city would mean trading ambition for comfort. My work changed, yes.
I later shifted away from a traditional media job into freelance and consulting work, but I’m making more money now since I’m paid per project rather than being expected to work endless hours for an unchanging salary.
Now, I work smarter, not harder. I live smarter. I’ve stopped defining myself solely by my ever-climbing corporate media job title, or my precious 917 area code.
Nashville gave me the space to grow in unexpected directions. I have a garden, I volunteer, and I made friends who didn’t care about who I worked for. I built a community that is unparalleled in its supportive and radically inclusive nature.
This city isn’t perfect, but it’s become home. At the time, leaving New York felt like the biggest risk of my life. Today, I think of how scared I was of the best decision I ever made, and laugh.
It’s been nearly a decade since I left New York, and although I still visit my “hometown” often and miss it dearly sometimes, I don’t regret the move for a second.
Well, maybe I just regret not leaving 10 years earlier.
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