It was the end of another summer, and I was exactly where I’d been three years before. I’d spent those years searching for our next home, sifting the pros and cons of some 40 cities in the process while real estate prices around the country skyrocketed. I was out of ideas. What once seemed like a blessing — being able to choose where I wanted to live — now felt like a burden. And yet I couldn’t give up.
Like plenty of adults, where I lived was always tied to where I worked. Our first apartment after college was in the city where my husband happened to land a job. The next city? Another job. Those were the rules.
Then we both started working remote five years ago, and the rules changed. It was like the world opened up. For the first time, we could live wherever we wanted (at least, in the U.S. since we both work for U.S. employers). Any city, ours for the choosing … but which one?
And so began a multi-year search for where to live — an agonizing, arduous yet blithely optimistic quest for not just any city, but the perfect city.
I can’t be the only person obsessed with this. Searches for “best city in the U.S.” have tripled in the past five years, correlating with the rise in people working from home. Then there’s the bevy of annual “top places to live” lists that roam the internet. Livability, Money, Niche and Rocket Homes each recommend the best cities to settle down in, all with comforting data-backed analyses that I didn’t look too deep into, opting instead for browsing the listicles with their dazzling array of choices. Covington, Kentucky. Boulder, Colorado. Madison, Wisconsin. There are even curated lists for families (ask Fortune) and young professionals (Forbes has the scoop). I scoured them all with type A enthusiasm, certain the answer to my geographic dilemma was behind the next click.
After all, I didn’t want much. Just affordability, diversity, good weather, low crime, plenty of parks and bike trails, a strong job market, cultural opportunities and easy access to other cities and countries. Totally reasonable.
But for three years, I couldn’t find anything better than where I was. At the time we were based in Tampa, a metro area that pops up all over those “best city” lists. When people asked me why I wanted to move, I struggled to put it into words. But I felt it every time I looked out my living room window at those shadeless palm trees — like living in a postcard of last year’s summer vacation.
I can easily tell you all the reasons Tampa is an amazing place to live. It has a vibrant food and arts scene, no snow, no state income tax, and Disney World and award-winning beaches practically in your backyard. It should have been perfect, but it was never home. Like when you’re dating someone who’s smart and funny and nice and everything but, somehow, not for you.
Each year, I said this would be the year we moved. Each year, I renewed our lease, doubling down on my hunt for perfection. I looked at cities in Washington with great hiking nearby, but they were out of budget. I considered various cities in Indiana and Ohio for their low cost of living but ultimately discarded the entire Midwest (my apologies to all Midwesterners) as too remote for our tastes. We drove up to Tennessee (twice) and Georgia, flew to Oklahoma City, and visited every major city in Florida with a population over 100,000. Nothing fit. I briefly contemplated getting a life coach to talk us through it until the $6,000 price tag quoted on a Zoom call nearly knocked me off my kitchen table chair.
Then, on a whim last November, we took a weekend trip to Raleigh, North Carolina. I had decided to write a story on things to see and do in town. Fall color was at its peak — reds and golds I seldom saw, brightening the parks and greenways. We explored, ate locally sourced food and went for walks in the faint autumn crispness, just brisk enough to flirt with the idea of a sweater. Somehow, I knew I’d found it. Home. We moved to Raleigh this spring.
And we love it. Raleigh is the Goldilocks of American cities, a term I heard from one local that sums it up to a tee. Not too big or too small. Not too hot or cold. In between the mountains and the ocean. Progressive and diverse, yet surrounded by small towns and farmland. Of course, the city isn’t without downsides: soaring summer humidity, higher taxes than Florida, and honestly, I’d prefer those mountain waterfalls a couple hours closer. But all things taken together, like in the fairy tale, it’s just right.
I’d like to say it was careful analysis that got us here. Sure, I checked the stats: home prices, average temps, crime rate and the number of international destinations with direct flights from the Raleigh-Durham airport (nine, if you’re curious). And it’s true Raleigh comes in sixth in the recently released Best Places to Live list from U.S. News & World Report — third last year when I was still searching.
But it’s not about that. What I was looking for wasn’t ever going to rank in a spreadsheet. It’s more elusive yet, paradoxically, more tangible. It’s the summer sunflower fields and the university that makes its own ice cream and the grazing horses I pass on my drive in, even though we’re only 15 minutes from downtown. It’s leaving behind those relentless palm trees, trading up for the sprawling shady oaks that give the capital its understated nickname, City of Oaks.
Perhaps it’s not perfect. But it’s perfect for us, for right now, and that’s enough.
