This blog post is a follow-up to my last post, “The Insanity of Choice.”

After many days of painful soul searching, we decided that moving to a warmer climate with more attractive housing prices was not actually going to bring us any increase in happiness.

I reflected upon the couple of years I spent living in northern Virginia outside of DC in a “Stepford Wives” suburb called Ashburn. Although the houses were beautiful, the people were gorgeous, the weather was delightful, and there were endless new places and things to discover, I never felt quite happy there. And that had to do with the pace of life in this area and the constant pressure to keep up with everyone. People were so caught in their own current that they barely looked up at me when I said “hello”; there was no time to talk to a stranger. People were too busy trying to get ahead.

I recall looking out upon the infinite sprawl of suburbia; thousands of nearly identical, perfect little houses all in rows. I always felt a little sick when I saw this. I couldn’t help but think of Agent Smith’s summation of the human race, “A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet…” While I tend to have a bit more love for human-kind than Mr. Smith, suburbia in Northern Virginia was quite a sight.

Our old neighborhood in Ashburn, VA

I also tend to assume that living in suburbia tends to go along with living a high consumption lifestyle. I was always on the road when I lived in Ashburn; almost daily trips to Target, coffee shops, playgrounds, playdates, the zoo, baby-sign language classes, museums and more. My daughter barely had a moment to herself with me at home because we spent so little time at home. And to this day she constantly craves being on the road all the time, even though it seems to cause her an alarming level of duress.

Then I think about the lavish suburbian birthday parties that I’d be pressured to keep up with, the urge to buy all the coolest toys that everyone else buys for their kids, and I get overwhelmed with how quickly my simple Maine life could turn into a fast-paced, high-energy suburbia life. Since moving back to Maine we’ve fallen into a warm daily rhythm of reading books and playing with simple toys at home; we mix up the week by making a couple trips to the local Toy Library (which costs $2/kid) or by heading to a friend’s house for the day. We cook almost all of our meals at home and we rarely go out “shopping”. I don’t feel this pressure to keep up with what everyone else is doing, because almost everyone else is doing the same thing I’m doing!

This isn’t to say that if we moved to a warm, lovely place like North Carolina that we couldn’t continue to maintain a lifestyle that was in line with our values. We had Adam’s co-worker (Thanks Brent!) driving by rentals and taking photos for us, and we even had a lease in hand for a place to live. But there would be that urge to be out and about all the time since we’d literally be starting all over again. We’d need to establish a network: friends, a mechanic, doctors, babysitters, a dentist, a new favorite coffee shop, a new farmer’s market, a new grocery store, etc. Relocating to a new area brings a certain euphoria, combined with a sure dose of exhaustion, especially with three little babes in tow.

Maine certainly has its flaws, like frigid weather (try pumping gas in -15 degree weather with winds gusting at 30mph and tell me how awesome Maine is), decrepit housing at oddly inflated prices, and you probably spend a good 1/8th of your life shoveling snow. But no one will be making a complaint to a housing association if I decided on an Allagash induced whim to paint my house purple and erect a lawn statue of Bilbo Baggins. And no one will have anyone to call when I’ve been too busy to mow my 10 sq ft patch of grass (which, in NoVA is what they proudly call a yard). When it came down to it, the thought of suburbia was terrifying. When I’ve made the case for Maine in the past, I’ve used this argument: “Recall the hobbits in Lord of the Rings; they were so far removed from the rest of the world, that even when the threat of all middle earth was at hand, they could feel no threat at all.” I figure that if this country is going to fall apart, the chaos would hit Maine last (right after Alaska goes up in flames). So I always get this feeling of ignorant bliss up here. No one cares to fuck with us because we don’t really matter. And that’s kinda cool. In a hobbit sort of way.

Adam and I were also listening to an audio book during the last couple of weeks, “Stop Acting Rich,” by Thomas Stanley, the same guy who wrote, “The Millionaire Mind.” Since Adam and I tend to enjoy living outside of the mainstream in most cases, this book really fortified our inclination to stay in Maine. Fleeing to suburbia would have prompted us to spend more cash (in order to keep up with those acting rich around us, even if unconsciously). In Maine we rarely go “out.” Mostly, we hang out at home with our kids until we get bored enough to invite some friends over. And when we do entertain friends it consists of playing Catan, watching old Firefly episodes, sitting around the computer and watching funny youtube videos of car crashes or hilarious episodes of the Mighty Boosh. We have tasty beer at our disposal, lifelong friends, and the internets. And these simple things do bring us great happiness.

Allagash, elixir of choice!

So what did we decide to do with this acclaimed “freedom of location”? We decided to stay right here in the frigid wasteland. I have my complaints, but I’m actually quite happy. I’ll groan through the winters but wear them like a badge of honor. I’ll continue to complain about the small-mindedness of simple, rural Mainers but not before I buy my delicious veggies at their charming little farms. I’ll think of those grand houses that sell for pennies south of the Mason Dixon line and then curse our Yankee ancestors for making New England such a desirable yet expensive place to live. On the coldest February day I’ll think of the friendliness of the sun only 500 miles south of me and sometimes I’ll wish I could be blanketed in its warmth. But when the sun brings relief in mid April, it will be that much sweeter, and I’ll not waste a sunny day inside with the kids. And when my kids get old enough to complain about living in such a cold and boring state, I’ll point them back to these blog posts!

I’ve never had commitment problems with other humans, but I find myself totally unable to commit to a geographic location; and the pressure to commit coupled with the inability to do so has slowly driven me insane. For many people, the question of “where to live?” is answered easily. I assume that most people in our country find work and settle down (if not immediately, then eventually) in their home state or even near their home town. And if they don’t end up buying a house in their home state then they follow a job to another state and settle there.

Maine is awesome for a couple of months

But freedom of location is becoming a reality for more and more people. I think it was Tim Ferris who first used the term “geoarbitrage” in the “Four Hour Work Week,” to exemplify the awesomeness that your life could be if you could free yourself from a desk, a building, a specific town, a specific country even. If you didn’t have to be somewhere (like at your desk at your company’s office) then you could go anywhere. And although I question some of Ferris’ ideas, I do support the concept of freedom of location since it coincides directly with our unalienable right, “the pursuit of happiness.”

We attained freedom of location in mid 2007 when Adam got hired at Intridea. They are an awesome high-end software development and products company in DC who allow all of their employees to work from home. And “home” doesn’t mean close to DC where you could be called into the office at any time; it actually means anywhere you call home. Adam’s co-workers are happily spread out across the country, from California, to Atlanta, North Carolina, Alabama, (and Maine) and are free to travel and relocate as desired.

We were living in northern Virginia when Adam started working at Intridea, and when we were granted this amazing freedom we decided to go back to Maine, our home state. We had a 1 year old daughter at the time and I was pregnant with our son. We rationalized returning to Maine to get support from our families and friends. It was a decision based on logistics, not on emotion.

It wasn’t long after we got back to Maine that we remembered why we left it in the first place. It’s incredibly over-priced, the housing market is full of really old houses that are falling apart, it’s economically depressed and depressing, it’s absolutely frigid for 6 months of the year, and our families and friends are spread so far apart across the state that we can’t seem to ever make anyone happy. That’s not to say there isn’t anything nice about Maine. Of course the coastline and mountains are gorgeous, there’s lots of undeveloped and preserved land, and access to lots of small farms. But Maine is called “Vacationland” for a good reason; it’s a great place to visit. It’s a rugged and tiring place to live.

But this is the reality of Maine: frigid north

We realized we made a bad decision about 2 months after we got here. Yet, we’ve lingered and suffered here for 2 1/2 years because we have been too paralyzed by choice (and guilt) to go anywhere else. How do you explain to your parents, whom love their grandchildren so dearly, that you’re going half way across the country (or the world, even), not because you have to for a job or anything, but simply because you feel like it.

We have been on the verge of buying a house here for the past couple of months, and I’m not sure what drove us to that decision other than a bad renting experience and just plain exhaustion; it’s exhausting to have all this freedom and not know what to do with it. When we got here 2 years ago, we spent months just talking about where else we could go; and when you can go anywhere, where do you go? When you have (now three) small children, do you conform to society’s (and family’s) expectations to be responsible and settle down and buy a house in order to give your children that sense of stability? After all, it seems like it’s our social obligation to get the largest mortgage we can possibly afford, make payments on 2000 sq/ft for the next 30 years, pay the HOA fees, keep our grass cut neatly and put the kids through the same government run education system for 13 years of their life.

The moment we buy a house we sign away this highly sought-after freedom. Usually, the most difficult aspect in attaining “freedom of location” is in finding a job that affords you that luxury. And we already have that. Are we willing to sign that freedom away in exchange for a mediocre life? But after almost three years of having this freedom and not knowing what to do with it, and being too afraid to actually do anything with it, are we better off just submitting to the fate of staying in the state we were born and raised in, even though we’re not that happy with it?

When do you take the reins and pioneer your own life and your own happiness, even at the expense of your family and friends’ happiness and at the expense of the “norm”? What are other families doing that have this freedom?

So while geoarbitrage is new hotness, it comes with the “tyranny of choice.” Which can drive you insane. Because the open-endedness of “choice” is torturous.